Winter Spells
by movinggirl
Summary: I love my parents. They should be happy and have friends. But when your parents become best friends with the mother of James Potter, your annoying, lazy, infuriating, arrogant, childish prat of an ex-boyfriend, and invite them to spend the Christmas holidays with your family, you start to question the relativity of happiness. Right before you lose your sanity, of course.
1. Kind Liars

**Hello hello!**

 **So, this is a sequel to _Summer Magic_ , a fic I started writing literally YEARS ago. (Like, four years. Yikes.) But I just got this crazy urge to write more of this storyline that I had vaguely thought of towards the end of SM. And here I am! You don't have to read this if you've already SM (I mean...it all ends the same...), but if you do, I hope it doesn't totally suck and you enjoy it. And if it's also been four years for you, a little recap...**

 ** _Summer Magic_ : Lily Evans has gone to a beach house every summer with her parents and sister since she can remember. It's one of the best times of her life. The summer she is 17, though, turned out to be a bit more than she expected. Her mum befriended the new neighbors, who were actually the Potters. James Potter was the most annoying prick in Lily Evans's year at Hogwarts, though she would have said the whole school, in her honest, completely unbiased opinion. James and his parents insist they are at the beach to spend quality family time-which, to Lily's horror, meant they would be there _all bloody summer_. Even worse? Mr. and Mrs. Potter became best friends with Mr. and Mrs. Evans. With all the family bonding and a mutual friend named Claire who seemed to be more interested in James than Lily ever was, James and Lily become friends. But only because he's Summer James, not School Potter. There's a difference. They still rowed, but Lily never really wanted to hex James anymore. Weird. Mr. Potter is actually sick and has been for a while. When he dies, Mrs. Evans is there for Mrs. Potter, and Lily for James. Near the end of the summer, total insanity overcomes Lily, and she kisses James. Kind, mad, ****unpredictable, hilarious, confusing James does not kiss her back. Horrified with what she just did, Lily ran off and avoided James. (Who wouldn't, am I right?) When she goes to tell him it was all a mistake, she finds incriminating evidence (read: notes between the Marauders) that proves that James seems to be madly infatuated with her. Unsurprisingly to any reader, Lily panics and they row. After a lot of soul searching and intervention from Sirius Black and Mrs. Evans, Lily realizes that not only is James incredibly good to her, he's perfect for her. They kiss a lot and are very happy and cute and live happily ever after.**

 **Except... they're James and Lily. It's not that easy.**

 **ALSO. I've got to do it. Thank you to: theladynimue, eliselilyflower, Love-what-is, ABC-123, Yumi Stern, DanicaRem, That daisy flower girl, mayannabeth, may, RagnarokxKitty, caroline kloster, Rena Mystique, owlgirlie387, mspstar97, team. , bethabest2384, calyxpotter, lola, thechosenbibliophile, Jamesfreakingpot, Tyem Marodyor, rapunzelxeugene4ever, sakurapetals0192, Moikan Yoloko, GreekPrincess3, natre998, lovejily, Lobster, musingmarauder, Writer0895, allthemessyglory17, LeahLumos, Warriorwitch13, leafypersuasion, frodopanda, Falcon 100, Infinity Lily, books4evah, gray babe, Luna Padma, 030, bookwyrms, roflshvuakomail, Smileyface Devil, and harryislife for all the wonderful, kind, and honest opinions! (sorry if you voted no whoops)**

* * *

 _Lily Evans_

Friends are one of the most important possessions a person can have in this life. Not that you can own your friends like property. At least, I hope not. That's not very friendly at all. In fact you could probably go to prison for— Anyway, you got to have friends. They push you to be better, inspire you, comfort you, and make you laugh so hard you sound like a drowning whale. They get you through the hard times, and they make you feel alive.

More importantly than friends is your family, especially if your friends become your family.

I don't have a very big family. I have my mum, my dad, and an older sister, Petunia. I never even knew my grandparents. I've got plenty of friends, though. I mean I've got enough friends.

All right, I have seven, but quality over quantity.

The point is that friends and family are important. I want my parents to have friends. They mean everything to me, and they should be happy. But when your parents become best friends with the mother of James Potter, your annoying, lazy, infuriating, arrogant, childish prat of an ex-boyfriend, and invite them to spend the Christmas holidays with your family, you start to question the relativity of happiness. Right before you lose your sanity, of course.

Truth be told, James—I mean, _Potter_ and I only "fell in love," as silly first years would put it, because my parents became best friends with Mr. and Mrs. Potter this summer at our beach house in Shriver. If I had known then that James— _Potter_ and I were going to break up after four months, two weeks, and one day, I would have never let the Potters in our perfect blue beach house for pasta dinner that first day.

Okay, I'm being a tad dramatic. But I am not bitter. We broke up twelve days ago, after all. I don't even know the definition of bitter; I'm so okay with this breakup. Not bitter at all.

I am, however, kind-hearted, thoughtful, selfless, and sensitive. I am also an idiot. A mad, raving, lock-me-up-when-I-get-loose lunatic.

See, Mum is sick—skin cancer—and we aren't sure if she's ever going to get better. When she found a best friend in Mrs. Potter, _obviously_ I was thrilled. (This was pre-questioning the meaning of happiness and my ability to stay out of the loony bin, you see.) And when my parents started mentioning that Mrs. Potter and James wanted to spend the holidays with us (Mr. Potter sadly passed in early August), I was truly supportive. I love Mrs. Potter, my parents were happy, and it had meant more time to spend kissing James. It was a perfect plan.

Mum started to get worse, though, and so did my relationship with James. What was I supposed to do? Write a letter to Mum explaining everything?

" _Sorry, Mum, I know you and Dad have been talking about Christmas with the Potters for the past four months, but we can't stay with them anymore because I discovered James is an idiot and so am I for thinking we could be together. I know this may be your last Christmas, but tough. Blame it on James. All my love, Lily."_

Of bloody course not! I would like to keep my family speaking to me, you know. If my parents hate me, I've only then got five friends! (Joking. I have seven. I swear.)

So I said nothing. I let them think James and I are still happily together. The plan was foolproof. If by foolproof you mean only a fool like me would actually think this was a good idea.

Now, as I lug my trunk off the crimson train and onto Platform 9 ¾ , my owl Clarence squawking impatiently, I'm struck by the utter ridiculousness of my situation. Will jumping in front of the Hogwarts Express as it pulls away hurt? Can I convince a fifth year to lug me over the head with his trunk of dirty robes? The possibilities are endless.

"This is going to be a disaster," I mumble to Marlene, my best friend.

"Oh, yes it is," she says gleefully. Apparently she finds the whole situation "hilarious." She thinks James and I shouldn't have split up in the first place and my not telling my parents about us was "stupider than our last three Defense professors combined." (Trust me: if you knew them, you would be so offended you might question our friendship.) I glare at her while she pulls her thick blonde hair into a ponytail. She ignores my gaze and chuckles to herself again. Correction: I truly only have six friends.

"What could I have possibly done, Marlene? My parents would be crushed if they found out James and I aren't together anymore."

They would likely be even more upset than James is, which is remarkably little. Not that I'm upset or anything. His inability to feel any sort of emotion that doesn't involve Quidditch is not a new concept to me.

"Besides, if my mum survived the heart attack she would have had after I told her, she and Mrs. Potter would probably have been thrilled for the opportunity to meddle." It was like they had placed money on us last summer. Good thing they didn't bet on how long we would be together. Beans for Christmas really would have sucked.

Marlene and I weave our way through the crowd, looking for our families. Marlene's little sister, Sophie, a fifth year Ravenclaw, had bounded ahead of us. Her strawberry blonde head darts through the crowd in search of Mr. and Mrs. McKinnon and Marlene's twin baby brothers, only five. I scan the crowd looking for my dad's balding head or my mum's bright smile. I don't bother to look for any part of Petunia.

"The least you could have done is told James your parents are still under the impression that you two are madly in love," points out Marlene.

"Yes, but that would require talking to Potter, and I would rather pretend that I'll get stranded in a snowstorm and be unable to go to his house."

"Good plan," says Marlene drily. Merlin, calm down, Scrooge. "Before you get stuck in a blizzard, though, you might want to let James know you kept your little break a secret, considering he's headed right for your family." She nods ahead towards our left. Dad and Mrs. Potter are standing together, wide grins splitting their faces, as James makes his way towards them. His messy black hair and tall frame make it easy to pick him out of the crowd. Mrs. Potter starts to look around with a question in her eyes, but when she sees me, her smile returns.

I curse under my breath. "Right," I say. "Welcome to hell, Lily." I hug Marlene quickly and rush over to grab Potter before he reaches my dad and his mother.

"Good luck!" calls Marlene. I can hear the laughter in her voice. I'm writing to her parents and telling them to take away all her Christmas presents. And I'm keeping the beautiful necklace I got her for myself. It's only fair, sorry, Marlene.

I run over someone's foot with my trunk in my dash to reach Potter and mutter an apology. When I hear them still grumbling, I want to shout, "Can't you see I'm in the middle of a CRISIS?" I don't, though, as I am focused on intercepting Potter's path while he's still a fair distance away. Also because I'm trying this new thing where I don't say everything that comes to my mind. Weird, right?

I dart in front of Potter. "Hi."

"Hey," he says surprised.

"Listen, my parents still think we're together—"

"They _what_?" He looks like I told him I was going to murder him right there on the spot. God, Potter. I know being around me is miserable, but you think you could keep your disgust to a minimum. I roll my eyes.

"I haven't told my parents we broke up." I eye him suspiciously. "Did you tell your mum?"

"Of course I did!" he exclaims as if it's the most obvious answer in the world. "Since we'll all be spending only a few days together, I figured she would want to know why you were being a complete prig to me."

That little— Right. Good. Now I know how these next few days will go. "She birthed and raised you. I'm sure she won't find my behavior towards you unfounded at all."

"Funny, Evans. I wish you had that sense of humor before," he says. "Or maybe not, since your idea of a joke is telling your parents we broke up while my mum and I stand right there."

"We're not telling my parents," I say forcefully.

"Are you mad? Why not?"

I glance over my shoulder. Mrs. Potter and Dad look extremely puzzled. We have to hurry up and go see them or else they'll come to us. "In case, you forgot all last summer, and considering you didn't listen to a single thing I said for the past four months"—he opens his mouth to protest, but I cut him off—"I'm going to remind you that my mum is sick. If this is her last Christmas, I'm not going to ruin it by telling her that her best friend's son was a mistake and I won't be joining them for Christmas."

James's eyes narrow into slits behind his round glasses. He clenches his jaw, and I've become so familiar with the expression; I know he's infuriated. I try to ignore the sharpness of his jaw and the memory of my fingers tracing the lines of his face—

"Merlin, Evans, I know she's sick. Trust me—I know." I don't respond. I hate the sincerity in his voice. It makes it harder for me to swallow and breathe and blink. And I really do like swallowing and breathing and blinking. "So what, we pretend to still be together for the sake of our parents?"

"Yes." I thrust my trunk towards him. "Now carry my stuff and be a better pretend boyfriend than you were a real boyfriend."

He looks at me, stunned. His mouth hangs open as he tries to grasp my trunk in addition to his own and his owl's cage. Who is in fact not named Otis—it's Ernie, but I've heard James slip up and call him Otis. "You mean to say that I'm spending my Christmas holiday with you, Lily Evans, trying to convince our parents, who are not idiots, by the way, that I'm in love with you?"

I nod tersely and quickly stride away, ready to run into my dad's outstretched arms, when I hear him mumble behind me, "You have got to be joking."

The urge to roll my eyes at his stupidity is strong, but I withhold, knowing I'll be rolling them plenty these next few days. I've got to keep my strength up. I quickly shove my way through the crowd, hopping into my dad's arms.

"Ah, my beautiful girl!" he says while gripping me tight. I hug him hard against his smooth dark brown jacket and smell his cologne. I hadn't realized how much I missed him until I feel a stinging behind my eyes. Pathetic. I should be a grown woman. Dad swings me a bit, and I see Mrs. Potter fiercely hugging James. The stinging eyes must have hit her hard, because she begins to cry and mutters something indistinguishable to James. I ignore the pain in my chest. Probably a minor heart attack or something. Oh, maybe a collapsed lung! Definitely not feelings for James.

Dad puts me down and I smile at him. He grins in return, and the wrinkles around his eyes are the best wrinkles I've seen in months. (Sorry, McGonagall.) I want to shake Dad's few pieces of grey hair on top of his head and make him throw me on his broad back and carry me to the car.

"James, m'boy!" exclaims Dad. James steps forward to shake his hand, but Dad waves him off and hugs him, loudly clapping him on the back.

"Hi, Mrs. Potter," I say somewhat shyly. _She knows!_ my brain is screaming at me. _You! Are! A! Horrible! Ex-Girlfriend!_

"Oh, I missed you, Lily." She sweeps me up into a hug. Wait, what? I hug her back, and when I surprisingly realize that I had missed her warm presence, I give her an extra squeeze.

She pulls back and cradles my cheek. Long, thick eyelashes frame her kind brown eyes, and her mouth—adorned with perfect red lipstick (I've got to ask for the name)—curves up gracefully. She looks at me like I'm her family.

Like a daughter.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit-

I quickly step back, nearly stumbling over my trunk. I flail backwards for a second, my ridiculous life flashing before my eyes, but catch my balance at the last second. Damn. Spending a few days in a coma surely would have gotten me away from this mess with James.

"Careful, dear," says Mrs. Potter. Oh, no. "Everyone ready to go?"

We nod. James quickly grabs his trunk and owl and starts walking, leaving me to carry my own belongings. Rude.

Mrs. Potter and Dad pester us about the train ride, our final assignments for the semester, the weather at Hogwarts, and everything else they can think to talk about. When we finally reach Dad's car, I wonder if there's going to be any more topics left to discuss.

Dad hoists our trunks into the back of our old—excuse me, "classic"—blue Volkswagen. Mrs. Potter sits in the front with Dad, leaving James and I to claim the back with our owls.

"So where are we going, Dad?" AKA: Where are we going to drop the Potters off?

"Home, of course."

I pause. "Where are the Potters going?" No point in beating around the bush with something useless my parents call "manners."

"Home, of course."

"Sorry?"

"They're staying with us, dear."

Dad pulls the car out of the parking lot and hits the familiar road home. I barely have enough thought in me to get excited about getting home. "Like, for dinner?" Please say for dinner, please say for dinner, please say for dinner—

Dad laughs. "No, they're staying with us until after Christmas."

" _What?_ " yell James and I in unison. We quickly look at each other before rearranging our faces to express mild shock instead of pure horror.

Dad looks up into the rearview mirror, his bushy grey eyebrows raised. "Lily, didn't we—Oh, wait, we didn't." He chuckles. "Your mother and I meant to send you a letter, but Clarence never came home, so we had no way to tell you about our change of plans!" I gulp. I hate changes. I hate plans. "We were talking with Mrs. Potter, and we decided there was really no point in only spending a day or two together, since we want to spend the whole holiday together. Because your mother is still a bit ill, we didn't think it wise to have her so far from her doctors, just in case…" Yes, that's a fair point, but I was counting on the Potter mansion! I could survive a day or two there. They have so many bloody rooms; it would be a piece of cake to avoid James. Or I could lock him in a room and it could take the entire trip for us to find him. I was going to flip a coin to see what plan I would go for, but I was not-so-secretly hoping for the latter.

"Well, are we going home first to gather our belongings and then coming back?" asks James hopefully.

"No need for that," interjects Mrs. Potter. "I've already brought all our stuff."

"We're all set," adds Dad. "All we needed was you two!" He raps on the wheel joyfully.

No, no, no, no. Father… Why have you betrayed me so?

"Mum," says James. Uh-oh. I know that voice. That is not a polite, complimenting, getting-ready-to-love-you kind of voice. "You have an owl. You didn't write to tell me about the change of plans."

Mrs. Potter turns around in her seat. "Didn't I? Hmm, it must have slipped my mind." She smiles sweetly, flicking her knowing eyes between James and I.

I—She—Oh my— _Merlin_.

Since I was eleven years old, I had thought that James Potter was something of a spawn of Satan, but this… I have seen the light. It all makes sense. My eyes are opened.

"Besides," says my oblivious, life-ruining father, "we knew you two would want to spend as much time together as possible."

"Yeah, right."

"Of course," echoes James.

Let the countdown to Christmas begin.

* * *

Four hundred brutal hours later, we're home. I breathe a sigh of relief when I see our two-story brick house with faded red shutters. No matter who else is coming with you, it's still home. We push our way through the door, and my mother comes hurrying out of the kitchen, her hair hanging loose and her old pink floral apron tied around her chest. "Lily!" she squeals.

She hugs me tightly and I wrap my arms around her, completely ignoring how thin she feels and instead memorizing the feel of her hug and her smell and everything else about the first moment being home.

"Come in, come in." She bustles us inside. "Oh, James! You've gotten even taller and more handsome. Come here."

I hear him splutter a greeting as she presumably hugs him. My parents are huggers, unfortunately enough for our guests. I think they use it to weed out the pricks. I regret to inform you that Potter seems to have snuck under their radar.

Petunia is hovering under the archway connecting the foyer and the living room, her light blonde hair pulled into a perfect ponytail and her arms crossed over her dark blue jumper. She doesn't exactly smile, but she's not scowling either. It's a Christmas miracle.

"Hi, Petunia."

"Hey, Lily."

I reach out for a hug and she recoils slightly. I quickly draw back and drop my hands. Yeah, we hadn't hugged in God knows how long, but we have company. Isn't she the one who wants to have the perfect façade? I turn away from her and face James, who definitely saw our uncomfortable interaction. His eyebrows furrow in the middle. Great.

"Hey, Petunia," he says, recovering quickly.

She smiles tightly in return, but is marginally more welcoming towards Mrs. Potter. My parents barely notice. Well, at least she didn't call them freaks or spritz holy water on them.

"Let's get all this stuff out of the way!" says my mother with unfathomable energy. "Here, we can take them to your rooms."

I pause. We only have one guest bedroom in addition to my room, Petunia's room, and my parents' room. I know they can't expect Petunia and I to share a room. They're optimistic bordering on oblivious, but even they know better. Which means…

"Sorry, James," I say. "It looks like you'll be sleeping on the couch." I make a face to pretend to be sad for him.

He narrows his eyes. "Don't worry about it, _dear_. I could always sleep in your room…"

I fake aghast. I know. I. Fake. Aghast. Because for a brief, clinically insane moment, I didn't mind the idea. It sounded nice. I must be so exhausted that my brain has corroded away.

Dad startles. "Now, listen here—" Good one, James. Maybe you'll end this joint holiday even sooner all on your own.

Mum giggles. "No need for that! Look, we've got it all figured out." We follow her up our carpeted steps, lugging our belongings behind us. On the right at the top of the landing are my parents' room and Petunia's room. On the left are my room, the guest room, and our bathroom. Oh, and a linen closet on the end, but… Mom walks towards it. No. This is mad. They can't have—

"Ta-da!" says my mother, throwing open the door to the "linen closet" to reveal a fully furnished room. "Ella charmed a whole room for James! Isn't it unbelievable?" I hate magic sometimes. Really, really hate it. "I don't know why you never learned to do that at school, Lily, because it could have been extremely useful…"

Oh, sorry, Mum. I must have missed the interior-decorating course when I was learning useful things like Defense Against the Dark Arts and Herbology and Ancient Runes and—never mind.

"James and Lily, you can start to put your belongings away. Dinner should be ready in ten minutes," says Mum before bustling back down the stairs with everyone else following her. I don't look at James as I drag my trunk and Clarence to my room.

Clarence gives a pitiful hoot when he sees my room, aware that long days in his cage are ahead of him. "I know exactly how you feel," I mumble. I fling open my trunk, which is stuffed with jumpers, robes, books, spare quills, old and used parchment, and more. Unpacking during the holidays used to be a nightmare, but not anymore. I wave my wand, and the items from my trunk shoot into their proper place. Well, mostly. A few of my jumpers and books zoom under my bed, but they'll end up down there eventually. Magic just quickened my sloppy habits.

I walk down to James's room, knocking on the half-open door as I enter. I don't believe it. Is this some sick joke?

"Your room is nicer than mine."

Ridiculous.

James drops a couple jumpers in his dark wooden drawer and turns towards me. I make a note to never go in James's drawers. I learned that lesson last summer.

He smirks. "I told you that I couldn't help it that my mum spoils me."

"It still smells like a closet," I point out.

He looks around curiously. "Huh. I thought it was just your house."

Should have seen that smart mouth coming. I glare at him, but he only laughs. "Come on; that was a good one."

I cough to hide my smile. "Anyway, look, I just—" I shrug my shoulders. "Please do this for me, okay? For some ungodly reason, my mum loves you. She thinks we're good together. Petunia's wedding is next month, and she's probably hoping she'll get to see me married soon, too. So I know it sucks, having to pretend to like me now, but can you—"

"Lily, I said yes," he says irritably. He runs his hand through his black hair. "Look, I know. I get it. I wouldn't not help. Your parents are good people, and my mom wants—No, she, er, she needs you guys." His eyes roam around the room. "We've got friends in the wizarding world, but there's something about you all. She likes learning about being a Muggle, and she likes that your parents don't view her like the wife of Charlus Potter or the previous Head of the Department of Magical Transportation. I don't know if she could have made it this summer without your parents, so… Yeah. We can do this. It's only a few days, right?"

"Right." My throat feels thick. Am I going to start crying? Get it together, Evans. No crying.

"So, what are the rules?"

"Huh?"

"You know, the rules. You gave me rules when we pretended to be friends at that party on the beach this summer."

That feels like a century ago. I couldn't believe I was hanging out with James—and not in the good way. I had given him all these rules about how to be a Muggle, and one had been that we were to pretend we were actually friends. Lo and behold…

"Besides, you're the kind of girl to make up rules for Christmas and take out all the fun in the holiday," he jokes.

"Hah, hah. You're hilarious." I _dated_ this? I need to learn about some self-respect.

James grins, revealing his straight white teeth and acting as if he knew me inside and out. Yeah, right. "I know you want to make up the rules. Come on, Evans, you're dying to lay down the law…"

"Rule number one," I say loudly, "is that you can't call me things like 'dear' or other cringe-worthy nicknames you come up with. You sounded like a grandpa downstairs."

"Oi, what am I supposed to call you then?"

"My name, perhaps?" Was he this stupid this summer? My memory's a bit foggy, but surely… "Or what you called me before."

"Okay, whatever. Rule number two is that you have to have fun this holiday and not be a boring stiff like at school."

 _What?_ "Rule number three: try to not act like a ten year old who has no concept of emotions or maturity."

"Rule number four: Don't tell my mum what I get up to at school."

"Rule number five: Don't lie to my parents to make it seem like I get up to anything at school."

"Rule number six: Don't tell my mum about Remus."

"Rule number seven: Don't tell my parents about anything You-Know-Who related."

"Rule number eight: Severus isn't allowed to come over."

"Rule number nine: Pretend the world doesn't revolve around you."

"Rule number ten: Try to have fun and stop worrying about the world. I have to say it twice, because it's bloody impossible—"

"Rule number eleven: Don't talk to my sister unless absolutely necessary."

"Rule number twelve: We don't talk about my dad."

"Rule number thirteen: Do not tell my parents about my job interview."

"Rule number fourteen: Don't tell my mom about the Quidditch bloke."

"Rule number thirteen: No kissing."

"What?" yelps James. "No kissing? How do you bleeding expect us to convince your parents that we're together if we don't kiss once? They know what teens feel—"

"Ew! Stop. Stop talking." My parents don't need to know what teens feel, and they definitely do not need to be thinking about it in relation to James and me. "Fine. You can kiss me, but only if it's _absolutely_ necessary."

"Emergencies only. Got it."

"James! Lily!" comes my dad's voice from downstairs. "Dinner's ready!"

I look at James. This is it. This is what I've been afraid of for the past twelve days. I had thought it was bad enough that he had to be a part of my summer life in Shrivers, and here he is now, in my childhood home. He has now seen every single bit of my life-Muggle and wizard. You would think having nothing left to hide would be freeing, but it's a truly awful feeling. I must have been some prick in a past life.

"After you." James gestures towards the door, and I walk out of his ridiculous linen closet. I brace myself for the biggest lie I've told my parents, beating out the time I convinced them a flock of birds flew into the living room and destroyed everything, when in fact I had just been testing out my magic and flinging things around. But hey, I got away with that one, didn't I? This should be a piece of cake.

Mum cooked a ham for dinner with vegetables and potatoes. She keeps telling us not to eat too much because we still have dessert.

Conversation flows easily as my parents and Mrs. Potter talk about all the things we're going to do before Christmas—shopping, ice skating, decorating the tree, making cookies, and more. It's like they think we're a cutesy sitcom family. Er, hullo? Have they even been present for the past seventeen years?

"You two are being quiet," says Dad, pointing his fork at James and me, as we are sitting on the same side of the table, something Mrs. Potter insisted upon.

"We're just tired, Daddy."

"Yeah," says James. "That's all."

"You two aren't rowing, are you?" bursts my mum. Her blue eyes are wide and bouncing like tennis balls.

Yes. I feel like I'm being punished right now. This is worse than coal from Santa.

"No!" James laughs, rather convincingly I might add. "That's mad."

"Yeah, yeah, that's mad, Mu—"

James leans over and kisses me on the cheek, smack dab in the middle of my parents and his mum and my sister, who might have just choked on a piece of broccoli. I turn to look at him sharply. He considers THAT an emergency? That was NOT an emergency! That was a trial run! That was the prologue! What would we do in a real emergency? What if the stove caught on fire? Would he burn the whole bloody house down?

"What?" mouths James, a defensive look on his face.

"Relax, Lily," says my mum happily. "You're allowed to kiss in front of us." She looks at us expectantly.

No bloody way. This just got too creepy. She's going to ask if we've thought about baby names during dessert at this point. If she does, I'll spend Christmas on the streets.

"Good god, please don't," moans Petunia. "We are trying to _eat_ here, Mum."

I don't think I've ever felt such a strong burst of love for my sister in the past six years. I try to smile at her gratefully, but she ignores my glance. Annnnddddd…there it goes.

"What have you been getting up to at school, hmm?" asks my dad. "No trouble, right? Making good, smart, safe choices?" He stares down James.

Rules number three, four, and five are at risk. Abort conversation, abort conversation!

I laugh. "Cut it out, Dad. We're Head Boy and Head Girl. We go to class; we do our assignments; that's it."

"She's right, sir," says James. "Lily's pretty responsible, so she keeps me in line most of the time. Lots of seventh years start to skip class, but not us. We never missed one class." My stomach churns. This boy is going to ruin me. "Not even Ancient Runes, which is incredibly boring."

I nod sincerely and reach for James's hand under the table. I ignore how easily his fingers thread between mine, and as soon as his hand is clasped in mine, I squeeze his traitorous hand so hard I hope he bruises. He tries to wriggle out of my grasp but I hold firm.

James looks at me and tries to give a cutesy smile, but I see his grimace. I smile back, wrinkling my nose a bit, and then smile at the rest of the table, searching for a distraction to take the attention away from my traitorous ex-boyfriend being a horrible pretend boyfriend.

"Has everyone already finished their holiday shopping? I could still use another trip to pick some last minute items up…"

* * *

 _Two and a Half Months Ago_

My eyelids were having incredible difficulty staying open. Professor Mendes rarely talks about Ancient Runes in Ancient Runes class (I know, what a surprise), so oftentimes the students sleep in between his lessons while he drones on about something irrelevant. His voice is rather soothing, too. It works out perfectly for those of us that needed a nap in the day. In the past years I drifted in and out of consciousness, and Remus and I tried to teach ourselves the lessons later. It was our seventh year, though, and we were getting ready for our N.E.W.T.s, so we figured it was time we try to pay attention in class.

Try is the key word.

I could feel Remus's head dipping beside me. I doodled on the parchment in front of me in an effort to stay busy. Ancient Runes itself wasn't horribly boring, I suppose, but Mendes would take so many tangents that one minute he was talking about his trip to the Middle East and thirty minutes later he had smashed the entire lesson into four minutes of rambling.

The door to the classroom suddenly opened with a loud clatter, and the entire class whipped around to see who was there to save them from this torture, Mendes included.

To my surprise, it was James, looking awfully nervous.

"Sorry to interrupt, Professor Mendes. I was wondering if I could speak to the Head Girl briefly about a student emergency."

A couple students perked up. Student emergency? That meant gossip.

Oh, boy. I looked questioningly to Mendes, who nodded before I quickly moved to meet James in the corridor.

"Hey, what's going on?"

He kissed me on the cheek.

"How's class going?"

Huh? "As dreary as usual. What's the emergency?"

James leaned against the grey cobblestone wall, his robe open, and tucked his hands into the front pockets of his trousers. "I missed you."

I laughed instinctively, a thrill shooting through me, and stepped forward. My hands wrapped nervously around his waist—we had only been together for almost a month at that point. "I missed you, too, you baby. Now tell me what the emergency is before another student sets himself on fire." Last week's emergency was a lot of fun; I've got to say. In a non-twisted, completely normal way.

"I missed you, that is the emergency." James grinned.

I slapped him on the shoulder. "Are you mad? You can't just pull me out of class to talk."

"Why not? We're Heads. We can do whatever we want."

"Did you even read the letter from Dumbledore? Or listen to him the first day here? Or listen to McGonagall any of the twelve hundred times she's harped on us about our duties?"

"Nope," he said, popping the 'p' sound. He smiled suddenly—and evilly. There was a new sparkle in his eyes. I've seen that sparkle. That sparkle can get you sent to prison. Or pregnant. Or dead. The possibilities seem endless. "You should skip with me."

" _What_? No!"

"Come on. I already left Muggle Studies; you might as well join me. Mendes won't care. He'll forget by dinner that you even left."

I shake my head and move back towards the door. "You know I can't—"

"I know you haven't. Try something new, Lils. You are, after all, dating a Marauder. A devilishly handsome one who really wants to spend time with his gorgeous girlfriend."

Gorgeous? Girlfriend? Yes, sure, whatever you say, James. Shall we drop out of school entirely? Maybe we can—

No! I knew I was better than that. Though his expression was incredibly convincing and made a part of me yearn for adventure, and his words had me embarrassingly weak in the knees, I couldn't.

"Sorry." I moved back towards the door. "See you at dinner?"

"Yeah, sure," said James. He wasn't mad—we had been working very hard at not being mad—but I knew he was disappointed.

When I entered the classroom, everyone turned around again. Most expressions were one of faint hope that I would entertain them by revealing what this "student emergency" really was. When I caught Severus's expression, though, it was not remotely hopeful. His black eyes were narrowed and his mouth was as thin as I had ever seen. I could sense the anger, disappointment, and disbelief from him. I had gotten this look a lot since September 1st, but I had hoped that when he realized I was happy with James, he would quit. The looks have diminished in number, but if I do catch his face when I'm with James or Sirius, Remus, or Peter, his expression is like a punch to the gut. My head quickly turned away towards my own seat, but I couldn't help but notice his clenched hands. Great. I sat down next to Remus.

"Student emergency, huh?" he asked in a knowing voice. Mendes continued with his lecture, but I certainly couldn't focus then. Not after James's hopeful request, my unwavering rejection, his quick defeat, and Severus's disgust.

 _Oh, fuck it_ , I thought.

I suddenly stood up, scraping my chair backwards. All heads turned towards me. Professor Mendes stared at me in shock.

"Excuse me, Professor Mendes, but may I be excused for the rest of class? There's an issue with the Head Boy."

"Why I—Well, I suppose you can, but if it is not truly an emergency—" stammered Mendes.

"It is." My belongings were thrown into my bag that I hoisted onto my shoulder.

"Tell James I said hi," muttered Remus.

"Shut up," I said. I nearly jogged out of the room, making sure not to look in Severus's vicinity. I could imagine his expression perfectly enough on my own.

Once I was out in the corridor, I looked rapidly from left to right, hoping to see James's retreating figure, but the halls were empty. Cursing under my breath, I decided to go left and hurried away from the classroom before I went back in and said something stupid like, "On second thought, who cares about an emergency and other students, am I right?"

Left was the right choice: a messy head of black hair was rounding the corner about twenty yards away. I ran, feeling like an idiot with my heavy bag flopping behind me. Heavy like the weight of my guilt ten years from now when I'm a barmaid because I failed all my N.E.W.T.s because of a silly, unbearable boy.

"James! Hey, James!"

He turned around, eyebrows meeting in the middle, but when he saw me chasing after him, he broke out into a grin.

"Hey," I said when I reached him, a bit breathless. How embarrassing.

"Hey." _Look at that smile_ , I thought, feeling like I had made the right choice. "If you make me show up late to Defense, I will bury you in the Forbidden Forest and pretend that I've got no idea where you went."

"That makes perfect sense. Now hurry up—I rather like spending my time above the ground."

We snuck down to the Quidditch Pitch and flew around on spare broomsticks, which I thought I would hate doing, but I loved it. James kept trying to show me how to do tricks, and when I told him I was fine with simply hovering, he started to show off. Which I hated. Completely hated. I won once when we raced, and I pretended that he didn't let me. When we were sitting by the lake later, he said it was intentional, but I ignored him and wondered aloud when the Quidditch scouts were coming for me.

We didn't show up late to Defense: we skipped it entirely. Potions, as well. I had trouble facing Remus and his smirk that night in the Common Room.

* * *

 **I'm planning a lot of flashbacks throughout the chapters to fill in the details and explain what happened (also to keep the good fun stuff coming because there can only be so much angsty Jily) which I'm super excited about. There won't be a lot of angst and fighting butttttttt I mean they did breakup.**

 **Like it? Hate it? Think this a horrible idea? How dare James and Lily breakup they are ~soul mates~? Leave a review and tell me and put this on story alert! (In all honesty, though, I'm a bit nervous about this so honest feedback would be great. Even things you want to see happen. Or cheesy things you definitely don't want to happen.) Thanks for reading, and have a good weekend (pretend I'm not posting this on a Friday...)**

 **MG**


	2. Mind the Muggles

**Ahhhhhh, thank you so much for all the alerts and feedback! I really appreciate it!**

 **Thank you to:**

 **GreekPrincess3 , theladynimue, GirlinRed, cokeerr, DanicaRem, 15samcre (Thank you! I really would like to write about the proposal, wedding day/night, finding out about Lily being pregnant thing because I think it's so interesting and you're right, not many people write about those parts, but I'm not sure how I would fit it into this story :/), Helena Black (why they broke up will be totally explained in later chapters but if you're really desperate to know... idk I'm hoping to explain it gradually though!), livestrong617, Whiterose788, heather2408, RaeOfSunshine9, (haha thank you!), and all the Guests, who I've got to say to the one who was asking, yes Lily and James will get back together haha.**

* * *

 _Lily Evans_

My eyes slowly open. Sunlight streams through my apparently useless curtains. What time is it? Oh, who cares. Waking up without an alarm screaming at you to get to class is glorious. My bed is glorious. This pillow is glorious. Christmas is glorious. Life is glorious—

Oh, shit. Nooooooooooo. The events of yesterday flash through my mind. To really get the morning going, my dumb brain also recounts the last twelve— _thirteen_ days, including the entirety of _that_ _day_. I roll over and shove my face in the pillow, blocking out the last five months while I'm at it.

This is fine. Christmas will be a piece of cake. I mean, when was the last time you actually sat around and did nothing during the holidays?

Exactly.

Especially with Petunia's wedding coming up. It's going to be a potentially literal flurry of wedding fabrics, snowflakes, and Christmas decorations and traditions. There will probably be no time where James and I will have to be together. After these crazy next few days, we will go back to ignoring each other at school, and when May comes, we'll go our separate ways. We probably won't ever see each other again, and we'll just pretend everything from the last eight months never happened.

Yeah. That's it. I'll just forget about our time at the beach and the way he used to kiss me and how he used to make me laugh so hard in the library at one in the morning that we would nearly get kicked out and…

No, this is foolish! Do you hear me? Foolish! I've seen the error of my ways. And my ways spell James Potter. I am moving on to mature, adult things. Like buying plants and dating boys that don't make you go mad.

I jump out of my bed and get dressed. I plait my hair and brush my teeth and head downstairs, bracing myself for the storm. I round the corner into the kitchen.

The silent, peaceful kitchen.

Uh… _Where is the storm?_ Mum, Mrs. Potter, why are you just sitting at the table drinking coffee? You're supposed to be causing a ruckus bonding, not reading the papers silently!

Dad, what are you looking at? The telly isn't even on!

Petunia, well, you are predictably looking through your wedding folder, but aren't you supposed to be barking orders about flowers or utensils or something silly? Come on, Tuney, I've seen you throw a bigger fit about a tea party when you were six.

James—Ugh. Why did you have to wear that jumper? You know I liked you in green. Take it off this instant.

I look around the room wildly. No one is even sensing my internal distress! The only person to look up is James, and that's because he hasn't gotten rid of his sixth significant other sense. (Trust me, it's harder to get rid of than you would think.)

"Er, what's going on here?" I say, trying to mask my shock in a tone of pleasantries. I don't expect them to wake at the crack of dawn and get to business, but it's already—

11:42 in the morning. Merlin, Lily. Did you try to sleep the day away?

"Morning, Lily," says my dad brightly, turning around on the couch to look back at me.

"Hi, dear," says Mum without even looking up from her newspaper. Gee, a girl comes home and less than twenty-four hours later she's not even worthy of a glance up.

I move to grab myself some fruit off the center of the table, when an image on the front of Mum's paper moves. Oh, look, she's reading the _Daily Prophet_. Mrs. Potter is perusing the _Daily Telegraph_ , Mum and Dad's preferred English paper. How cute.

Wait—no, not cute. Mum can't read the _Daily Prophet_! The _Daily Prophet_ is nothing more than obituaries, missing person ads, and speculations of You-Know-Who's movement and plans!

I lunge for Mum's paper and snatch it out of her hands. "Lily! For Heaven's sake, what are you doing?"

"You don't want to read this!" I'm going to wring Mrs. Potter's neck. Who does she think she is? She has no business letting mum know what's going on in the wizarding world. One glance at the paper and I would have to get on my hands and knees to beg her to let me return to school.

"Of course I do!" exclaims Mum. "I can't believe you haven't let me see your copies before. I was just reading the fascinating cover story about a"—here it comes—"new dragon discovered in southern Africa! There's also articles about centaurs' predictions for the new year, a new broom model for Quidditch, and the ongoing debate about mergers within the Ministry of Magic, which I don't care for much, to be honest."

Huh? Those were all tiny articles at the back of yesterday's _Prophet_ that I didn't even bother to read myself. The cover story was about how a wizarding village had been attacked by Death Eaters. There were six deaths.

I glance at Mrs. Potter—she's looking a bit confused—then back at Mum's paper. It does look thinner than the normal editions. The articles are a bit misaligned, too. As if it had been magicked…

My apologies, Mrs. Potter. It looks like your neck will stay in perfect condition.

"Yeah, that was a good story about the dragon, Mrs. Evans," interjected James. "The picture was a bit poor, but since it was only a spotting, I'm sure they'll have new ones soon."

I stare at James, who avoids my gaze as he and mum begin discussing dragons. Petunia slams her wedding file closed and leaves the kitchen. I move away mechanically and start to make myself food. I stand in front of the toaster, biting my lower lip. I have got to get it together. I cannot be freaking out like this every time You-Know-Who comes up.

He didn't even come up. I just assumed. James was right: I am constantly—

Wrong. James was wrong. He just doesn't get it. My reaction was a bit absurd, but my intentions are good.

I sit at the table with my mum, Mrs. Potter, and James, toast and raspberry jam before me. "So what are we doing today?"

With all that talk about holiday family activities yesterday at dinner, which continued through the pie for dessert, this day is probably jam-packed.

"Petunia and I are going to run down to the bakery soon to finalize the details for her wedding cake. Vernon's mother apparently does not believe chocolate raspberry is an appropriate flavor for a wedding cake. Mrs. Potter wants to come with."

I've yet to meet Mrs. Dursley, but she sounds like a horrible, boring person with a manual on living with a stuck up her bum. What does appropriate flavored wedding cake even taste like? Sticking to your side of the bed and doing taxes together? Give me a break.

"Daddy?"

"I'm meeting Clyde for a game of tennis at the gym soon. He's going off to Mallorca Wednesday and wants to get one last match in." Dad rises from the couch and comes into the kitchen. "He thinks he can beat me again, but not today! Today's the day I finally win!" Dad mimics swinging a tennis racket as he hops around the table. His tennis racket quickly turns into a wielding sword, which James pretends to challenge. Mum and Mrs. Potter laugh, and I join in, liking the sound of my mum laughing.

"So…what are James and I to do?"

"Whatever you want, I suppose," says Mum.

I look at James, who's already gaping at me.

"We're supposed to just sit around here all day while you all go on with your busy lives?"

"Mum," mutters James sharply under his breath. "Isn't there something you want us to do?"

"Just enjoy each other's company," she responds with a wide smile.

Nope, sorry, Mrs. Potter. I think I will wring your neck.

"I'm sorry, but I don't think I've ever had a day in my life where you haven't bossed me around and made me do chores," says James. I snort. "And you're telling me now there's _nothing_ to do?" He waves a hand in front of her face. "Elladora Potter? Is that you? Blink twice if you're under the Imperius Curse."

Mrs. Potter swats his hand away and I giggle.

"Oh!" says Mum, interrupting a likely witty showdown between James and his mother. "Actually, could you two go to the grocer's for me? I've got a list of things that I need, and it really would help me."

We nod and say it's absolutely no problem, and then Mum makes a crack about how it will look like we're all grown up and shopping for dinner that night in our own little flat. I leave the room to grab my jacket before I put a hole through her wall. Or my head.

* * *

Though there is no snow on the ground, the air has a sharp bite to it, and you start to lose feeling in your nose after a few minutes. Add the wind, and you feel like you are getting a Stinging Hex to the face over and over.

My white hat is pulled low to cover my ears, and Mum's shopping list is tucked into my pocket. She didn't want much: it's mostly baking ingredients, since she wants to teach Mrs. Potter how to make all her favorite cookies.

James's fingers brush against mine and I pull my hand away quickly, shoving them into my pockets. Whether or not it was an accident (on his part, of course) is debatable. I oh-so-casually scratch my nose while looking left and right as we cross another street. Sneaking a peak at James, I notice his hands are now firmly stuffed into his dark blue jacket as well. Rude.

"How far is it again?" he asks.

"About a twelve minute walk."

"Oh, okay."

The next street is more crowded with mothers pushing strollers, not-fake couples strolling and holding hands, and kids dashing around, a few licking candy canes. James and I bump arms several times. It is terrible.

"So what did you tell your mum, exactly?" I ask in an effort to break the silence.

"Not much. I just said we weren't together anymore. Don't worry: I didn't tell her you called me a—"

"Not that! Merlin. I meant about how I've been keeping the You-Know-Who stuff away from my parents." My question was a bit vague, so it's clear how he could assume that I was asking what he had told his mum about our breakup. I would never intentionally keep the question vague in the hopes that he would clarify the situation while making sure that it seemed that I didn't care. That would be absolutely absurd.

"Oh, right." James's cheeks are a bit pink. "I didn't say anything. She would probably spit dragon fire if she knew that you aren't telling your parents things."

"I'm not lying," I say indignantly. "I just don't think I've got to write to her every time someone is attacked, which would be about four times a week now. You don't think they talk about it, do you?" Worry rose in my chest. I _would_ spend all my time protecting my family only to predictably have a Potter go behind my back and ruin it all.

"Nah, I doubt it. Mum doesn't like to sit around and dwell on it too much"—gee, that sounds familiar—"and besides, what could she say? 'Have you heard that this new wizard wants to enslave your daughter and murder your population?'"

I flinch.

"Oi, Lily—Evans, sorry, it just came out—"

"Why did she do that thing with the paper then?" I asked, ignoring his apologies. "You know, taking out all the You-Know-Who articles."

"Actually, that was me." My neck quickly snaps left to look at James. "I just fixed a few papers. I figured my mum would give your parents a copy, and I didn't fancy any early morning You-Know-Who interrogations." Wow, that's so—

"I got enough of that from you." Predictable.

"Well, thank you, Potter. I appreciate you looking out for my parents, even if it stems from a selfish place."

"That's me: selfishly helpful."

When we arrive at the grocer's, I grab one of the metal carts and throw my jacket in, grasping the list in my hand. We would be more efficient if we split up, but I hardly trust James alone in a Muggle grocery store.

"All right, let's go."

James seems interested as we go down the rows of fruits and vegetables. After grabbing a couple lemons, I turn to see him inspecting the box of radishes. He leans down and sniffs one quickly before looking around to see if anyone saw him. He hastily straightens up when he sees my tight-lipped smirk.

"They aren't on the list, but feel free to put them in the cart," I say with a flourish of my hand. "They don't pair very well with cookies, though."

"I'm allowed to be interested in Muggle food, Evans," he mutters. We push along.

"Muggle food? James, it was a radish. Have you ever even been shopping for food before or does it just magically appear before you?"

"Of course—I'm not some—I have gone to a grocer's before!" he splutters.

"Oh, yeah? What did you get?"

"I don't remember. It was a very long time ago and a very long list."

"Ha! Admit it: you've never been shopping for food before. You're like someone's pet owl. Wait—no. Owls hunt for themselves. You're like someone's cat!"

"I am not a cat!"

"Come here, kitty kitty," I tease. "I've got your food on a silver spoon."

James shoves me. "Shut up, Lily, I'm not a cat. Sirius would never forgive me."

"Sorry? Did you want your kitty toy? I don't know where it is; where did you leave it?"

His front teeth bite into his lower lip, but I still see the edges of his mouth curling up. I laugh louder as we turn down another aisle. "I'm a cool cat then like McGonagall."

"No, no, no. You're a nice fluffy kitty. You couldn't even chase a mouse."

He grabs my carts and pushes it to the side. It sways, but the weak push does little else.

"Bad kitty!"

James comes around to my end of the cart and tries to push my hands away. "All right, fine. Let me do the shopping then."

I hold firm and try to keep walking. "We can't spend all our money on catnip again, Potter, sorry."

I hear him begrudgingly laugh and I chuckle in return, feeling light. I am hilarious.

James is standing behind me now with his arms around me, his chest pushing against my back. He tries to loosen my grip on the cart. "Come on, Lily. I know everything that goes into cookies: sugar, flour, mice tails, some dried grass, milk—"

A laugh erupts from my mouth and I shake my head, trying to pull away from him. "Get away from me, you monster, before you poison my whole family." He holds firm, but so do I. Sneakily, one of his hands unclasps from the handle and goes to my waist, tickling me. I gasp and jerk away. The cart goes flying into the shelves, causing over a dozen cans of beans to crash onto the floor.

"Oh my god."

James releases me before I get on my hands and knees to pick up the cans. An elderly woman a few meters ahead gives us a dirty look. I grab the cans faster. James reaches to take a few from my arms to put back on the shelf, but I turn away. "I got it," I snap.

An employee in a green apron peeks down the aisle and walks towards us. Oh, Merlin. I check to see if any of the cans look damaged, but there's only a couple dents. They wouldn't make us buy those, right? I can't come home with a dozen cans of beans. We aren't even a bean family!

"Everything okay here?" asks the older man. He's got slim square glasses and a fuzzy black mustache.

"I'm so sorry, sir, we were—"

"Yes, we're good, sir," says James, standing up to shake his hand. "Sorry for the mess. We'll make sure to clean it all up."

"All right, no problem." The man leaves.

When the cans are back on the shelves with the dents strategically hidden, we walk away silently. My hands are the only ones on the cart. I try to ignore that a couple months ago we would have wheeled the cart away snorting and gasping for air, recounting the moment at least six times.

Once we've gathered all our items, we move towards the queues. I see James eyeing the Coca Colas while we wait, but he doesn't put one in the cart.

"Just grab them," I say.

"What?"

"The sodas. Grab a few. It's not a big deal. My dad and I drink them, anyway."

James's face brightens up. Three bottles fly into our cart. He leans down and wraps his arms around ten more. I stare at him before directing my gaze to our cart.

"How much are you planning to drink?"

"Er, if you have two during dinner and then one with dessert, that's three a day. If you, your dad, and I drink them, this will get us through the week."

I make a face.

"What?"

"Nothing, nothing." Three sodas a day for a week? He's going to be obese by the time we got back to school at this rate—if he doesn't die from a sugar crash beforehand. I try to hide my laugh. "You might have a little addiction if you're planning on drinking three a day, but do what makes you happy."

"An appreciation does not equal an addiction," says James stubbornly. "Besides, if I die from these sodas, it'll be on your conscience, since you gave me my first."

I did—at that Muggle party on the beach at the start of the summer. "I'm sorry I was trying to bring a little happiness to your life."

"I forgive you," he says smugly. Thanks, Potter. I can sleep peacefully now. I take out the items from the cart and start putting them on the counter. James takes over while I move closer to the register and the boy scanning our items. He looks about my age with blonde hair perfectly combed to the side.

The total is more than I expected. I blame it on James's drugs—sorry, sodas. I start to dig through my wallet for a few extra coins.

"Sorry," I mutter to the boy.

"It's fine," he says kindly.

"Here, I think I have some change." James reaches into his pocket and pulls out a handful of coins, holding them up the employee and the rest of the Muggle world to see. Sitting on top are Sickles and Knuts and one shining Galleon.

I shriek and slap his hand away. The coins go flying all over the ground. James glares at me before bending down to recover his money. Really, James? Really? Did you learn nothing this summer?

"Oh, I'm so sorry, I thought I saw a spider on your hand!"

"Lily." My eyes snap back to the blonde boy behind the counter. He's grinning widely at me. Blimey, he's got perfect teeth… "Lily Evans."

Er… Perfect teeth or not, this boy could be a psycho. I inch closer to James.

"Sorry, do I know you?" I glance at the nametag on his apron. It reads Henry. I look back up at him. Oh my—

He laughs. "Kind of. Henry Pritchett. We were in grade school together at—"

"Oh my god! Hi!" I squeal. Henry Pritchett! Henry Pritchett was the nicest boy in the class our fifth year.

"Hey! Jesus, it feels like it's been forever." He's right: I haven't seen him since the last day of fifth year. I had turned 11 a few months before and knew that I would be on to bigger and better things come September 1st.

"It certainly has. How did you even recognize me? You look nothing like ten-year-old Henry." I try to subtly look him over. Besides the perfectly combed hair and straight teeth, his arms seem defined. His face is round, but he's definitely… Not hot, per se. He's…handsome. I mentally shake myself. Get a grip, Evans.

But why? I'll never see him again. It was practically a Christmas miracle I ran into him at all. The last time he saw me I had pigtails (courtesy of my mum, I swear). I am completely different now. I am an educated witch. I am a Gryffindor. I have boobs now! Mustering the small grain of bravery I actually possess, I say, "You look so different. Did everyone from school get this handsome?"

Henry chuckles, but he looks back down at the register before him and shuffles to the side. His cheeks faintly look pink. He's embarrassed! "Everyone else grew up rather handsomely. I'm still boring old Henry."

Huh. He barely accepted my comment. He definitely didn't throw one back. Not that I was fishing, but like I said… I have boobs now. And I got rid of the humiliating hairstyles. That's got to count for something! Oh, Merlin. Unless I still look hideous… Maybe I've gotten so used to my hideousness that I've forgotten other people need time to adjust to me witchy face. What if I've got warts all over my face and just overlook them? Goodbye, cruel world. I tried so hard to be pretty enough for you…

No, that's mad. I was just hoping for a different reaction. A James kind of reaction. Not hoping— _expecting_. Definitely not hoping. James would have smirked and pulled his hair and then told me I looked better than he could have imagined and how we would make handsome children together.

Speak of the devil… James loudly clears his throat and steps forward. He looks at Henry pointedly.

"Oi, sorry, mate," says Henry kindly to James. "Let me just finish up with this customer. Have you got all your items on the—"

"I'm with Lily, _mate_."

Henry's eyebrows rise spectacularly. He looks from me to James. "My mistake. Er, Lily, do you have the change?"

"Oh, yeah, yeah." I fish around in my wallet, ignoring that James just spoke incredibly brashly to Henry and that the line behind him has started to disperse as people give us dirty looks and move towards other registers.

"I'm James."

"Henry. Nice to meet you."

I hand Henry enough to cover the rest of the bill. Thank goodness for the bill wedged between my old metro passes and movie stubs. One was from a Star Wars showing this summer.

"I'm Lily's boyfriend."

Henry nods quickly, focusing on putting the money in the cash drawer. Not that I expected Henry to care at all—blimey, we just saw each other for the first time in six years after all. But I'm not at all pleased he decided to be a prick to Henry. Not at all.

"Er, no." The boys turn to look at me. I lean in over the counter, noticing that James also tries to lean in. "Have you heard of St. Paul's School for the Unique?" I ask Henry.

"No…"

"Good. You're lucky. It's a school for loonies," I whisper. "Everyone up there is completely mad. My family volunteers to have some of the less violent ones visit us when they're occasionally let out. James has stayed with us a few times." I turn to him, and I can tell he's fuming. Luckily for me, he still looks a bit dumbstruck, which plays perfectly into my story. "Poor bloke is all confused up here." My index finger taps against my temple and I cross my eyes and stick my tongue out. "He thinks I'm his girlfriend. I don't have the heart to tell him the truth; he doesn't have much else going in his life."

I put my hand on James's shoulder, and he stares at me gritting his teeth. Yeah, he definitely doesn't look confused now; he is furious.

"Uh, are you sure…"

"Do you want to go home? _Home_?" I ask James in a voice I once heard a woman using to talk to her dog on the telly. "Yeah! Come on, let's go home." I gently push James ahead of me as I take the receipt from Henry's outstretched hand. A line had started to form behind us again. James and I grab our bags of groceries. "Sorry, Henry. We've got to go."

"Of course." He turns to the women who placed an unusual amount of garlic on the counter. "Hi, how are you?" He enters the weight of the smelly food, and I head towards the door.

"What the bloody—" mutters James.

"Lily!" I turn around. "Some of us are planning on going into the city in a few days—me, Celeste, Arthur, Fi, and some other blokes you probably don't remember. You can come if you want."

Woah. The thought of hanging out with my old Muggle friends makes my hands feel sweaty. Would it be weird to see them after all this time? Surely it would. I haven't really talked to Celeste, Arthur, and Fi since we were on the playground together.

"Oh, Henry, that's really nice, but—"

James puts his arms around my shoulders and tugs me away. "Come on, Lily, let's go get married," he says matter-of-factly.

Henry nods and smiles. "Petunia can get my number from Harriet. Ring me if you change your mind." Then he's smiling at the old lady, who actually began to file her nails before Henry, causing an awful scratching sound that even made me cringe.

Harriet, one of Tuney's bridesmaids, is Henry's older sister. I completely forgot they were related. Frankly, I completely forgot about Henry.

When we're outside, James rounds on me. "Seriously, Evans? You're going to tell that prick I've escaped from the loony bin to have mad fantasies about you?"

I don't bother to hide that I find my joke hilarious. I'm allowed to laugh at my own ingenuity, after all. "What, that? Come on, that was funny. You could have played the part a bit better, honestly. I'm disappointed in you." We cross the street and shuffle our way onto the sidewalk with all our groceries.

He rolls his eyes. "Sorry to disappoint. I'm not sorry that the only way you could get that bloke to ask you out was by telling him I'm mentally deranged. He knew he had no chance when he first saw me."

I snort. "Right. No chance. Why did you even say you were my boyfriend?" I feel a flicker of annoyance. It was one thing to tell my parents for a specific, admirable reason. The cute boy in the grocery store? Not a chance. "You made it very clear that you weren't my boyfriend anymore."

James glances at me. "Yeah. I know. I was there when you said it first." I roll my eyes. It's typical James to completely screw that day's events around in his mind. "But I'm not going to be some wimp that pretends to date a girl while she goes out with another boy. I have something called self-respect, you know."

"Do you? Huh. That's news to me."

"Wow, please, stop," he says in the most monotone voice I've ever heard. "My sides are splitting. Please, stop, Lily. I can't take it anymore."

He smirks at my glare. I swing a bag at him. When it smacks him soundly on the legs, I hope it wasn't the eggs. Mum wouldn't be pleased.

"Can't we just Apparate to your house?"

"No. I've set up anti-Apparation charms. Just in case."

"Oh. That's smart of you."

Smart but incredibly inconvenient. "Thanks."

After walking in silence for a bit, James asks, "So you really hadn't seen that guy since before school?"

"Before Hogwarts? Yeah. I can't believe he recognized me."

"I can," he quips. He's got no expression on his face. He probably means because I'm so ugly or my voice is annoying. "And the other people he mentioned?"

"No, I haven't seen them since I was eleven either. Well, I ran into Fi in a shoe store a few years ago, and I sometimes saw Celeste down on Spinner's End. I haven't been done there since fifth year, though, and those were brief encountrs."

"What's on Spinner's End?"

"Severus."

"Ah."

There's a long, uncomfortable pause. I want to yank my hat down to cover my whole face. Why did Severus have to come up? Why why why? As if it wasn't difficult enough trying to keep conversation flowing between us, considering that I was madly in lo— _like_ with him thirteen days prior and now we can't stand each other.

"We drove through the neighborhood on our way in, actually."

Apparently, my mouth likes to keep things awkward. Imagine if it listened to my brain for once. How bizarre of a concept.

"We did?"

"Yeah. It's a couple blocks away with the faded brick buildings cramped together." He doesn't seem to remember. "We drove past the old millhouse along that muddy river."

Remembrance lights up his face. "Oh!" He makes a face. "That dodgy bit? Merlin…"

I admit it's not the nicest area, and Severus's street—Spinner's End—was probably one of the better-kept streets. Mum and Dad had told me I wasn't allowed to wander down to that neighborhood alone when Sev and I had first become friends. Of course, the knowledge that I was a witch and my new best friend was a wizard was completely exciting and made me feel invincible. I don't think a week went by when I didn't disobey that rule. (Sorry, Mum and Dad.) Even though it was a rough area, that didn't define everyone that came from it. Celeste had been very kind in grade school, always sharing her crayons, and Severus… Well, I don't think it was Spinner's End that changed him. I wait for James to make a rude remark. Probably something like, "He's probably got the cleanest head of hair compared to the rest of the lot there.

He doesn't say anything mean. Fifth year Potter would have. I'm reminded that just because we aren't mates anymore, doesn't mean that James reverted back to his fourteen year old self. It wasn't like he changed for me or anything.

Man. I've really got to work on this humility thing.

"I expect it wasn't a fun place for kids to grow up," he finally says. "I didn't see a single playground."

He's right: there are no playgrounds on Spinner's End or any of the streets nearby. The lack of slides and climbing bars is what drew Severus two blocks away to a pair of creaky swings and me, after all.

"Yeah." Can he hear the hollowness in my voice or is that only obvious to my own ears? "You've got to leave home for that."

* * *

 _Three Months Ago_

My footsteps pounded on the floor while I walked through another empty stone corridor. I tried to quell the nervousness I felt listening to the _tap-tap-tap_ of a pair of feet hurrying behind me. Would it be obvious if I started to run? I could have hid in an empty classroom, but then I would only have been cornered. I knew I shouldn't have gone to that party. It had ruined the perfectly crafted strategy I had executed for the past three weeks.

Damn you, Slughorn, and damn me for my insufferable need to suck up.

"Lily."

The nerves in my body seemed to contract—not a good feeling, I had to say. Fight or flight? Fight or flight?

If I didn't confront him there, he could have followed me back to Gryffindor Tower, and things could have gone from bad to war if he saw James.

I turned around. "Severus."

He was standing a few meters behind me, arms hanging loosely by his sides and long black hair hanging in his face. He pushed it pack and stared at me critically. I tried to stare back, but I only had so much fight in me at the moment. I broke eye contact and stared at a space above his left shoulder.

"Should we go to Dumbledore?" he finally asked.

That was not what I was expecting. My eyes snapped back to him. "What?"

"Are you hexed?" he asked seriously. The concern in his voice was obvious. "You seem fine in class, but it doesn't explain… I mean, if you're under the Confundus charm you should be exhibiting other signs, but it could be a well-casted charm…"

I'm sorry, can you repeat that please? Was he _actually_ insinuating that I'm under a spell? No… He wasn't even insinuating that! He already said it!

"No, I'm not bleeding hexed," I snapped.

"You've got to be," he said in a tone I was very familiar with: sincerity and desperation. "What else could be going on? We hated Potter! Now you're…hanging out with him. You're holding his hand and speaking to him. It's…vile."

"Yeah, I am," I said angrily. "You know what else I do? I let him stick his tongue down my throat and feel me up." His eyes became the size of saucers and a hippogriff could have flown through his opened mouth. "Sorry, did you need me to grab a vomit bag for you?"

"Yes. Please."

I rolled my eyes. "That's what people do when they're dating, Severus. We aren't 'hanging out' or 'speaking.' He's my boyfriend. So brew yourself a nausea potion and get used to it."

Feeling enthralled at my wittiness (I could practically see James clapping for me), I turned away. I had nothing left to say.

"We hated him, Lily! What could have possibly clouded your vision this summer? He's a disgusting, arrogant, selfish prat with rich idiots for parents who give him everything on a golden platter. He struts around here with his mates doing whatever they please because they think the world owes them everything, and we were the only ones who knew—"

On second thought, I always had something left to say. And when someone insults Mr. and Mrs. Potter—kind funny, loving Mrs. Potter and brave, strong, _dead_ Mr. Potter? Well, you could bet your left arm I would have an awful lot to say.

"Shut your mouth, Snape," I nearly growled. He did; I could see the muscle in his jaw tight with tension. My teeth probably flared like fangs. Good. "You have no right to talk about James and his friends like that—James and _my friends_ like that. And you lost the right to tell me how I feel years ago." I pause. "Actually, you never had the right to tell me how I feel. No one does, but you lost the right to think about how I feel years ago.

"You're blinded by hate, and I know you'll never get it, but James is different; and everyone in this school can see it but you. I don't mean different than last term; he's different than he was when he was eleven and when he was fifteen. He may have been what you said and maybe he's still a bit like that, but he's so much more than that. He's determined and funny, and he cares about people. He—"

Wow, that quickly turned into a profession of my feelings for him. James should really have been there. I didn't mean to go down that route, obviously, but something in me felt the need to prove to Severus what I know about James now. So what if I my insides became mushy and I forgot the point I was trying to make? Bite me.

"For Circe's sake…," mutters Severus. He looks faint. Or like he might hex me out of self-defense, as if I'm causing real pain.

My face warmed under his glare. Oops. "The point is," I said loudly, "you don't know this James, and I know you're not even going to bother to look."

"He's not different, Lily!" He threw his hands in the air. "He cursed me and Mulciber last week! He's still a bullying toerag—"

"Did you hex him first?"

"No!"

"Hmm," I said flatly, pretending to feign interest. James hadn't told me about this, but Elizabeth, a Ravenclaw Prefect, told me Mulciber was harassing some younger students who happened to be—take a wild guess—Muggleborns. Severus was lurking around. She said James told them to bug off, took ten points each, and said that they were lucky the Head Girl (also known as me) hadn't seen them because they would have gotten detentions. He was shepherding the Muggleborns away and said, "Don't worry about those bastards," when either Mulciber or Snape hexed him square in the back.

I never asked James about it, because I believed Elizabeth when she said James ended it quickly and took thirty more points each. Even if she hadn't told me, though, I knew I wouldn't have considered what Severus said. I knew and trusted James now; Severus was nothing but someone from my past.

"Merlin, Lily. He's using you! You said so yourself: you were a game to him. Now you're just letting him have his prize and when he's had his way with you—"

My hand thrust into my robe and yanked out my wand. With a simple flick, Severus was suddenly hanging upside down in front of me, as if being held from a rope on his ankle. His robes fell and billowed around his head. Thank God he was wearing pants this time, or that could have been uncomfortable.

Severus and I stared at each other in shock. Did I really just do that? Was that me? He seemed to be thinking the same thing.

"See? You've already changed."

"That makes three of us."

Without any warning, my weak, pathetic, traitorous tear ducts decided then was the perfect time to spring into action. My ribcage seemed to be squashing the air out of my lungs. I was struck with a memory of the Gryffindor girls in my year staying up late talking, lying on our beds and imagining our futures. What kind of robes we would wear, how we would have perfect houses because we would know enough magic to make sure they were always perfect, and what our future husbands would be like. I was rather dreamy then and had great plans for the future, but I distinctly remembered having a sense of excitement in my chest, waiting for the day my dream boy would come along and I would marry him with Marlene as my maid of honor and Severus jokingly threatening my husband during the ceremony. The four of us were supposed to be the best of friends.

As Severus hung pitifully upside down, his face becoming redder by the second, I wondered, if he had never drawn deeper into the Dark Arts and we had stayed best friends, if would he have accepted James as my boyfriend. Or would he have made me choose?

I supposed it didn't matter. I would never know.

Gently, I let Severus fall to the ground. He picked himself up and glared at me, but it seemed to take much more effort to seem angry than before. I think he noticed that I was beginning to cry.

Weak, pathetic, traitorous tear ducts. I was going to rip them out later. They were completely useless. Who invented these things? Let me at him.

Severus sighed heavily, shaking his head. "I'm only trying to protect you."

"I know." Severus cared for me still, and I cared for him. It just wasn't enough right now. "I don't need protecting, though. Not from you, not from anyone."

The "need" part was debatable—after all, look at the world I was living in. I would be lucky if I made it out of this mess alive. What I really meant was that I didn't want anyone's protection, especially Severus's.

"All right."

"All right."

"You deserve better, you know."

I shrug and force a smile on my face. If my lip quivered, I was calling it quits… "Maybe. But so does he. See you, Severus."

He didn't return my smile. He looked utterly defeated.

Oh, for God's sake! My lip quivered! It _quivered_! In front of Severus! Who's running this show? I demand a refund. I need a tough, strong body. Since when was your body supposed to express how you felt inside, anyway? That sounds like a system destined to fail.

"Bye."

"Bye."

Weak, pathetic, traitorous tear ducts.

* * *

Back home, the house is empty and James and I unpack the groceries. Well, _I_ unpack the groceries. James opens all the drawers and cupboards while I unpack and say, "No, not there. No, to your left. The third shelf. Yeah. There," a lot.

Worse than that stimulating conversation is when we've finished unpacking, because now we have nothing to occupy ourselves with. Mum didn't give us any more jobs for us to do—the first time she's never left an entire sheet of chores for me, probably. I wish my parents and Mrs. Potter were back. It would be nice to have to pretend James and I were still together. Without them we're forced to deal with the repercussions of our splendid breakup, and when was the last time the consequences of anything you ever did turned out favorably?

Exactly.

"Can we watch something on the television?" asks James.

I breathe a sigh of relief. Telly is good. "Yeah, 'course." We move into the living room. James flops down on one side of our scratchy blue couch while I grab the remote. I hand it to James and settle into the other side, ensuring as much space as possible is between us. In a subtle way, obviously. I'm nothing if not stealthy.

I extend the controller to James, and when he goes to grab it, his hand wraps around mine. I jerk my hand back as if he had burned me, flinging the remote onto the floor, where it falls with a subtle _crack_.

Very stealthy.

I pick it up and hand it to James. Well, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go stealthily hang my head in a doorframe and slam the door closed.

James flicks through the channels quickly—not that we have very many. He settles on a bad American sitcom that is surely getting cancelled within the next year. He is fascinated by their clothes and keeps asking me if Muggles actually wear all those swirls and sequins. When I say some do, James's expression is so shocked, I feel embarrassed for the entire Muggle population.

Wizards are warned not to wear their robes in Muggle areas, but with all the sequins, colored trousers, and heels taller than my cat, I can't imagine anyone would see the robes and call them "unusual."

I sound like my cranky neighbor Ms. Tyler, who hates the newest Muggle fashions and music, and probably happiness and children, too. Great. I'm an old hag now.

A few hours later, Dad comes home. When we greet him, he ignores us and marches up the steps, grumbling about how tennis is a rubbish sport anyway and bad bones. James and I have to stifle our laughter when we hear him trip up the steps and scream, "Damn you, Clyde!" Shortly after, Mum returns with Mrs. Potter and Petunia carrying a lot of bags.

"Did you go shopping, Mum?" I ask her incredulously.

She shrugs. "I would hardly call it shopping, Lily. We only picked up a few things." There are nine bags sitting on the table. I think it's time for an intervention.

"What did you get?"

"More Christmas decorations!"

More? Merlin. It's definitely time for an intervention. Mum starts rifling through the bags and pulling out tinsel, lights, candles, and cookie tins. I look away for fear that if I look long enough I'll start waddling towards the North Pole to help Santa Claus make his presents.

Mrs. Potter kisses James on the cheek. "Oh, James, you should have seen Amy's shop! She was holding out on us last night and last summer. She makes cakes too gorgeous to even serve at Hogwarts on Christmas day."

James pretends to pout. "Mrs. Evans, how could you?"

Mum laughs. "Your mother is exaggerating, James, but I can take you to see it, if you really want to visit."

"Yeah, I would like that."

I turn to Petunia, who is rifling through her wedding binder again and making notes on the section with "Cake" pristinely written on top. "How did the cake decision go?"

"Good, good," she says. She smiles at me. "We decided on vanilla bean cake and buttercream icing with a few chocolate shavings to add some extra flavor."

"Sounds delicious," I lie. I'll toast to that cake—with some enticing water. Yum.

Vernon's mother better appreciate that unoriginal, completely normal cake. Actually, considering the size of Vernon, if she's anything like him I don't think that will be a problem…

"Look at this!" squeals Mum. She's holding a bunch of dangling green leaves, and to be frank, I don't really care that Mum bought a new plant when… No… Oh, God…. No, please…

"It's mistletoe!"

My mother hates me. Mrs. Potter hates me. God hates me. I hate me.

"Where should we hang it up?" asks Mrs. Potter. Mum wraps a red ribbon around the mistletoe and grabs a nail and hammer. _Where did those come from?_ Standing in the doorway that leads from the living room to the foyer, she hangs it up and grins. Mrs. Potter nods her approval. "Perfect."

"Mistletoe?" asks James, his voice strained. "Is that really necessary? Mum, I thought you were allergic to mistletoe."

She laughs. "I just told you that so you wouldn't buy it to use it as an excuse to kiss that McKinnon girl at her parent's New Year's Eve party."

I whip around to face James, whose ears are burning brighter than Rudolph's nose. Marlene and James? No, no, no. That would never work. She's Marlene and he's… James! _My_ James! Holy hippogriffs, does James still like her? What if—

I quickly look away from James. The last thing I need is for him to develop mindreading skills in my moment of temporary insanity.

"Do you really think mistletoe is appropriate in our home?" I ask Mum. She's hammering the horrifying plant into the wall. Rather appropriately, it's the same sound when you put the last nail into a coffin.

Mum giggles. "Goodness, Lily. We're all adults in this house. Your father and I kiss plenty, you know"—ew ew ew—"and if Vernon comes over, he's allowed to kiss Petunia. They're going to be married in a few weeks, after all. Besides, you know how we feel about you and James." She smiles sweetly.

My poor naïve mother. If only she knew how James and me felt about James and me. (She would actually probably still do this, but maybe she would have a scrap of a guilty conscience about it.) (Hopefully.)

"Besides, it's not Christmas without mistletoe!"

Happy first Christmas to me, then, because we have never once had mistletoe enter this house. Not even the tacky fake kind.

"Where's the camera?"

Really, Mrs. Potter? Really? My hands get very clammy.

"It's in the foyer on the cupboard," replies Petunia lazily. I glare at her, but she pays no notice. Wow. I hope her vanilla cake is dry.

Mrs. Potter hurries to grab it, and James and I exchange a glance. He looks just as panicked about this. His hazel eyes are wide, his hair is brilliantly sticking up all over the place, and his pink lips look completely kissable…

Ahem.

Sorry.

"Mum, cut it out," says James when she returns. "This is silly."

"Actually, I would love a picture," pipes in Mum. "It would make me really happy."

Cue the magic words. With dragging feet, I go to stand under the mistletoe, but then it is abruptly engulfed in fire. Bright orange flames lick and wrap around the green leaves and tiny white berries. I jump back, and Mrs. Potter and Mum shriek. Petunia's chair scrapes against the tiled floor as she stands to her feet.

As quickly as it happened, the flames are gone and the mistletoe hangs beautifully from the doorframe, not a leaf or berry blackened. I stare at James, who does not look at me, while our family definitely stares at us. He runs a hand through his hair. Has he gone absolutely mad? He could have burned something on accident! More importantly, why was it really that horrible of an idea to kiss me?

Dad walks into the room through the very doorframe that had just held an open flame. When he sees us as still as statues, he looks up and spots the mistletoe. His face splits into a grin. "Mistletoe! It's perfect, Amy! Oh, Ella, you've got the camera. Mind taking a photo of me and my beautiful wife?" He waves to her. She slowly goes over to him, warily eyeing the mistletoe. Great, James. You've scarred my mum.

Dad wraps an arm around Mum's tiny waist. "How do I look, Lils? All four hairs in place?" He pats the top of his head.

I giggle. "Hate to break it to you, but you've only got three now. They're all good."

He laughs jovially. "Blast. Sorry, dear," he says to Mum before placing his puckered lips on her cheek.

Mrs. Potter holds up the camera, and—after many failed attempts—manages to take a few photos. Dad starts dipping Mum and twirling her around, making her laugh breathlessly. I watch them happily, thinking maybe the mistletoe wasn't the worst idea Mum's ever head.

James is sitting on the arm of the couch, watching my parents with a crooked smile. That could have been us, you know, I want to say. I don't. Between the two of us, this ruse will be over in two days at the most, and then we won't ever have to think about these "could have been" feelings again.

* * *

 **Also, sorry this took so long! I wasn't not writing, but I was writing a lot of stuff for future chapters. Which I feel good about, because I really do know where this whole thing is going!**

 **I don't really know any James and Lily fans that want more Snape in the story, and that was never an issue in Summer Magic, but now... Well James and Sirius living just a few streets apart could be interesting.**

 **Favorite, review, or put it on alert, please! All feedback greatly appreciated. Also, I will 10000% definitely have the next chapter out next Sunday. Scout's honor.**

 **MG**


	3. Summer Again

**I am so incredibly sorry. I'm also such a liar! I said next Sunday and it was really like 4 Sundays. Baaaasically I didn't finish the chapter in time and then I went off on vacation with no internet (which sounds impossible nowadays, but seriously, no internet), and then school started. I wanted to post this two days ago on the 1st, but the whole site was down! Probably everyone reading HP fics to cope.**

 **When I did finally have internet again, I was BLOWN AWAY with all the follows, favs, and alerts! Thank you so much to everyone, especially:**

 **Mooneymoney , DezziDestiney, mspstar97, staglovr, JILY fangirl (school really would be a lot better!), JILY SHIPPER, That daisy flower girl (ta da!), Inkling Blotspot (thank you thank you!), , Mme. bookworm, Jily4Life, lovejily, Helena Black (yes!), cokeerr, GossipMissChocolate, Whiterose788 (ahhhh you're so kind! Thank you!), CaptainSwan83 (TBD but yes), destiel102, Tyem Marodyor, GreekPrincess3, RaeOfSunshine9 (Ha! Totally relatable. Look how long this one took me, good luck to you though!), sakurapetals0192, and the guest reviews for leaving very kind and encouraging comments!**

 **OKAY. Last thing. A lot of people have asked if we'll find out why Lily and James broke up and yes we will. We'll see the actual breakup (ugh) and the stuff leading up to it in the flashbacks. I'm hoping to plan it out in a very specific way.**

 **Also, thank you to DanicaRem for encouraging me to try this ~new~ thing.**

* * *

 _James Potter_

 _Six Weeks Ago_

This must have been what Heaven feels like. It had to be. If it wasn't… Well, I was staying there forever then, thank you very much. The low rumble of joyous, celebratory Gryffindors rolled over my ears, and my stomach was warm and fizzy with whatever the hell Peter gave me to drink—which tasted much better now than it did when he first handed it to me. Crawford and Edwards, my blood fantastic Beaters, are lifting Gibbs' chair above their heads with her in it. She had never been a better Keeper than today, and she was only a third year. Grinning wildly, she looked around, and when I caught her eye, I raised my goblet to her. She turned bright red but I could see the pride on her face.

Kellog and Oliver, one of our Chasers and our Seeker, were best mates who were constantly joined at the hip. They were predictably were celebrating with others. I pushed through the crowd to find them while scanning the room for Lily.

"Well, if it isn't the two most brilliant fifth year players Hogwarts has ever seen," I said when I reached them.

Kellog grinned, and Oliver triumphantly threw her fist in the air and whooped.

"You were the best Captain tonight, Potter," she said earnestly. "Honestly, I don't think there's ever been a better game of Quidditch. The Slytherins are going to be sulking for weeks. And those moves you pulled?" She shook her head. "I have no idea where those came from."

I shrugged, but I could feel my chest puff out. "The Slytherins were never going to win—we might as well have taught them something while we were out there."

They laughed, and Kellog said, "We're going to be a mess without you next year, Potter. I don't know what we'll do."

"You can stare at the Quidditch Cup and think of all the wisdom and skills I imparted on you while I'm rich and famous and playing in the big leagues."

Kellog and Oliver chuckled, and I knew my big head was sucking all the air out of the room, but so what? Let me be an arrogant prick, damn it. I was the luckiest wizard in this school to be able to lead the most talented team of Quidditch players in the past six years, and we destroyed the Slytherins. We had been practicing like mad for weeks, but this morning I had been so nervous before the match I threw up my breakfast (behind the Quidditch pitch like a sick dog, as a matter of fact). When the whistle blew, though, and we were all up in the air… It was magic.

Every play, move, and strategy we practiced and discussed had paid off. We had never worked together more perfectly. I felt the Quaffle leave my fingertips and I knew it would go to Alcora, our third Chaser, or Kellog. If I didn't see the Bludgers, I was hardly concerned; Crawford and Edwards were making sure they were nowhere near their team. And Gibbs? I could see the determination in her eyes across the pitch as her tiny frame covered the hoops.

You felt so alive up there. The crowd was cheering, and you could see McGonagall throwing her thin arms in the air with impressive claps. I think the team started acting a bit drunk off the rush, making more risky and impressive moves with every _clang_ that meant we had scored ten more points. I kept glancing at Lily, too. I had tried to avoid her gaze at first. (She only made me feel more nervous and foolish, and I didn't think falling off my broom hundreds of meters in the air would impress her or the rest of my team). As the Slytherins played worse and we played better, though, I couldn't help it—I had to look at her. She was already looking up at me and her face was pink from the cool wind, but her eyes were bright and she cheered so loud Marlene covered her ears. She looked so proud and excited and I couldn't believe that she was proud and excited for me and with me that that sight alone nearly made me crazed with impressing her.

After I had flown backwards and scored a goal by throwing the Quaffle over my head, though, when I looked at Lily she pretended to yawn and checked her bare wrist as if she had been wearing a watch. I could see the spark in her eyes. _All right then_ , I thought. _I'll give her exciting_.

We were up sixty points then: the Slytherin team really was useless. I tried moves I had only read about (and did them perfectly, of course), and I gathered the team to tell them we would do plays we had only attempted in practice. Alcora, our third Chaser, looked like he would cry tears of joy. Lily shrugged a few more times noncommittally, looking unimpressed, but by the time we had destroyed the Slytherins 290-20, she was beaming. (The more bizarre moves we made, the more panicky the other team became. Ha. Gits.)

Now, with the Common Room full of pride and joy, the buzzing intensified with every minute—especially because I really had become slightly drunk. I could always count on Sirius for the Firewhisky and Peter for something disgustingly effective.

I noticed Lily across the room with Marlene and Charlotte, her best mates, but as I talked with Kellog and Oliver, every time I looked over at her, she was already glancing at me. It made my heart jump into my throat and my hand want to pull through my hair. In a cool, handsome way, of course. I was a winning Quidditch captain, after all. I should have been able to handle my girlfriend sneaking looks at me.

Moony was with Wormtail across the room, trying to get a round of cards going, but it seemed Wormtail already had too much to drink. Figures, since he was the one on drink patrol to make sure no underage (more like, _really_ underage) students got alcohol. Poor bloke. I laughed at his fumbling fingers trying to shuffle the cards and headed over.

"Prongs! Oi, mate, you were spectacular out there," slurred Peter. "I don't think I've ever seen you play so good. You were...you were... In fire!"

I laughed and looked at Remus, who was also amused but seemed too relaxed to laugh. Hell yes, I love drunk Moony. He lets everyone else see a bit of the Lupin we know.

"Thanks, Pete. Hey, Moony, how do you think I did?"

He chuckled to himself. "Honestly? We should pin Evans to one of the posts and you would fly faster than a hippogriff and shove everyone out of the way to get her."

I pushed him, causing a bit of drink to spill onto his hand. "Shove it."

"Why didn't we think of this earlier, Peter? If only there was some way to know she would have brought this out in him! We would have avoided the Quidditch fiasco of 1995."

Peter looks down thoughtfully. "Probably because that's when she hated him."

"Hey!"

Remus laughed. "Fair point, Wormtail. He would have used some lame pickup line before probably knocking himself off his broom."

Peter cackled. Damn. I hate drunk Moony.

"Oh, wait, that already happened."

I groaned. Ugh. Why did we have to talk about the bloody past? Isn't it enough that she rejected me in front of the whole school and Mcgonagall had given me a detention afterwards? (She claims it was because I was disrespecting the rules of Quidditch, but we all knew it was punishment for losing to Hufflepuff. Obsessed, she is. She didn't even find it funny when I tried to explain it was all a joke, and how was I supposed to know Evans wasn't going to play along?)

"I'm leaving. Where's Sirius?"

Peter pointed to a corner across the room. "Congratulating Rosa Oliver." They weren't kissing yet, but Sirius's hands were on her bum and her hands around his neck. (Kellog seemed to have disappeared. Smart girl.) Dunno why I thought Sirius would help me out, anyway. Probably join in with the rest of the fools.

"Hey, here comes your congratulations." I looked to where Remus was gesturing: Lily was making her way over. Or stumbling her way over. Oh, no. I looked to my mates. "Please don't be idiots," I begged.

"Wha-? Us?" mumbled Peter, and Remus just smirked. I was doomed.

"Hey." Lily wrapped an arm around my waist and hugged me, a bit of her drink splashing onto our shirts.

"Hi."

"Are you here to congratulate the great Captain?"

"Yeah! Congratulations him!"

Should I take Peter's drink? Lily looked up at me, her slim eyebrows meeting in the center. "Hmm." She turned to Remus and leaned in real close. He stared back at her. "You're drunk."

"Excellent assumption, Miss Evans. Five points for Gryffindor."

She laughed. "Thank you, Professor Lupin."

Peter tried to shuffle the cards again but he ended up spilling them all over the floor.

"Wormtail, let me." Remus magicked the cards back into his hand. He stared at them intently, as if calculating his next move, before throwing the entire deck over his shoulder and in the faces of a bunch of fifth years. "Never mind, I can't feel my thumbs."

We all laughed; Peter wheezing and Remus looking like he had just won an award.

"All right," said Lily, raising her cup to the two idiots on the couch, "proceed with the drinking." She walked away and pulled me with her.

"Don't forget the spell!" shouted Remus.

"Good luck!" said Peter, somehow making the phrase one word but stretching it out for seconds.

"It's all right if it takes a few tries!"

Rotten mates, all of them. I hope they're laughing when I shove them out our Tower window.

Lily led us to the steps towards the boys' dormitories. She sat down about ten steps above, so we were partly hidden from the party, but we could still see the jumble of arms and legs below us. I sat a step above her. She turned and placed her chin on her crossed arms over my knees, staring up at me.

Was she going to talk? Not in a slick git kind of way, but I was okay if she didn't say anything for a while. Her hair had gotten a bit wild with the wind outside (and probably the alcohol and sweaty air in here), and the blouse she had on made me have to remind myself to keep looking at her face, where her bright green eyes shone up at me.

God, she was gorgeous. I could look at her all night. In a totally non-creepy way.

"Congratulations, Captain."

"Thanks. It was pretty poor playing, though. I could have gotten a couple more shots in, but this girl in the crowd kept distracting me..." She rolled her eyes. I grinned.

"Give me a name," she said seriously. "We'll duel. The one left standing gets to have you."

"That would certainly be an interesting fight."

"Every boy's dream."

I chuckled and twirled a strand of her hair around my finger. "Change of plans: you stay here with me. I don't need any other girls."

Her lips pulled back, revealing her teeth and forming wrinkles around her eyes. "Good," she whispered.

"Good."

We sat in silence for a bit as I twirled my fingers in her hair and she drew circles on my legs. Change of plans: this was definitely what Heaven should feel like. Who could I talk to about arranging this?

"Who was that man talking to you after the game?"

A shock went through me, and my hands stilled. I hadn't told anyone yet what he had said to me and what he had offered. I'm surprised I hadn't, really, because fifth year me would have flown over to the Quidditch announcer's microphone and shouted it out (and then probably told Lily there was no way she could resist me now). But I wasn't fifteen anymore (thank God. I'm way better looking now) and things were different. I had kept it to myself for almost three hours now. That alone was a miracle.

I wanted to tell her, but what could I say? "Yeah this is fantastic news, but for some reason I wish he had never seen me play"? I couldn't figure out how I felt. Part of me was elated—my dad would be so proud. My childhood dream was right at my fingertips. Yet another part of me wouldn't let myself really think about it. What would that even mean, being on a professional team? I would be away at practice all the time. There would be hard training sessions. It would be a lot of fun.

But did I want fun? Having fun at Hogwarts was one thing—I mastered that. I probably had more fun in seven years here than most people do in their entire life. Was that what I wanted to spend the rest of my life doing, goofing off and having a good time throwing around a Quaffle?

Lily looked up at me expectantly. No, I wanted more. I tried not to think about everything she worried about. I pushed down the feelings I had, not wanting to scare her with the weight of them. They were bad enough to me, and they were my own bloody feelings.

I shrugged. "I'll tell you another time?"

"But if you don't tell me, what else will we do while sitting in the dark stairwell looking like a bunch of randy teenagers?"

"No idea. Nothing comes to mind." I leaned in and kissed her, which—frankly—I had wanted to do ever since she first smiled at me during the match. She arched her neck up to meet me, and I slid down to sit on the same step as her. Her lips tasted like alcohol and sugar, and they were so bloody perfect I didn't think I could ever get enough.

The stone of the steps was still pressing into my back, and she was kissing me sloppily, no doubt because of whatever Wormtail served her that he hadn't already drunk for himself, but my brain still turned to mush and I couldn't have told you what uncomfortable had meant even if you had an open flame held to my broomstick.

Her hands cupped my face and—surely, positively, without a doubt, she was going to be the death of me if she kissed me like this more. Snogging or death… Snogging or death…

Wow, what an incredibly easy decision this was.

Kiss away, Evans. I lived a good life.

When we pulled apart, my face and hands felt all tingly. Her breath mixed with mine, and it nearly hurt to look at her... Godric, I wanted to etch the picture in my brain. Forget Quidditch or saving the world. That was what I wanted.

I was going to say it. I was tired of mashing those three words down inside of me. So what if she obviously didn't feel the same as me? I didn't care. I was going to say it. Maybe saying it would stop my chest from swelling, my fingers from shaking, and my brain forgetting how to speak every time she looked at me like that.

"I-"

"I should probably go," she whispered. "My friends are going to be looking for me."

I wasn't going to say it. Not now. Not today. Probably not tomorrow. I felt a twinge of pain. Why was it so bleeding hard to say it? I'm such a loser.

"Friends? What am I, moldy cheese?"

She giggled but then she stared up at me. I stilled. Maybe I really did smell like moldy cheese all this time, and this was her perfect opportunity to tell me. Shit. I didn't want to be the moldy cheese boyfriend. How utterly humiliating would that be?

"Oi, how did you and the fittest girl in school break up?"

"She couldn't stand my mold cheese smile anymore."

Great.

"No, you're not moldy cheese," she said easily. "You're my _best_ friend."

Someone just doused me in cold water, right? There's no way those four words could make me feel this shocked, right? I broke contact with her piercing gaze. Best friend? That was way bigger than a boyfriend. This was a boyfriend and a best friend. That was like... the holy trinity. But two.

I tried to stay calm, but that felt nearly impossible. Were my hands quivering? My mouth certainly wasn't working. I couldn't even speak. All I wanted was to grab her and dance around the room with her. _No, stay calm, Potter_ , I lectured myself. _Don't ruin this by acting the fool. You're cool. Mature. A casual boyfriend and best friend. You're the best wizard in this school; you can't be acting like a first year pansy._

"Oh, yeah?" There. Genius. It was perfectly, totally normal.

She nodded, and I wondered if she would remember saying this tomorrow. "But don't tell Marlene."

"Promise."

I had nearly passed out when Lily had told me we could be friends about five months ago, and she hadn't even really meant it then. Holy buggering shit. Five months ago. What would we be like a year from now? Five years? Hopefully she would have showed me her boobs by then.

I think about Sirius, Remus, and Peter, who are, without a doubt, my best friends. I would do anything for them. I've nearly done everything for them already. Hanging out with them is easier than flying—and more fun. (But don't tell Sirius that; he would call me a sap.) Sometimes it's like the entire universe led up to us all being Gryffindors at the same time, just so we could be mates and fuck shit up and call ourselves the Marauders and make that madly impressive map and have all the professors pretend to hate us and the students love us.

It's impossible to find your footing with Lily. I thought she tried to throw me off. She probably woke up and thought, "How can I mess with James today?" She always told me the truth—a very harsh truth for a long time—and she rolled her eyes so often at me I thought they would get stuck one day, and I would probably tell her it served her right, and then she would surely say it was a blessing in disguise because she wouldn't have to look at me muss up my hair anymore. The air got harder to breathe when I looked at her, but when it was just us sitting in the Common Room doing homework or we were lying in bed talking, the conversations we had could have gone on forever. The silences, too. I wanted to know everything she ever thought and felt. I wanted to know and lo— _like very much_ every bit of Lily Evans, and if anyone else would have to know everything about me, I suppose I wanted it to be her.

I thought about this summer and the fun times on the beach and at the festival and then how she held my hand at Dad's funeral and left me to mope alone and then with her. Somehow this inexplicably felt like she was, without a doubt, my best friend, but in a whole separate category from the Marauders. Like she was this whole other world, even though she was never once separate from them—I never had to choose.

Of course, I had no idea how to put these thoughts and feelings and all my gross mushiness into words. I wondered if I even should. Would saying this freak her out? I was a bit freaked out. Eight months ago and we wouldn't even glance at the other in the corridors. So I just kissed her again before she got up go find Marlene and Charlotte, while I sat on the steps, wondering how a prick like me got so lucky.

* * *

I am such a prick.

I didn't mean to set the mistletoe on fire. What was I, ten years old again? God. I'm lucky Mum didn't hex me on the spot. Lily's sister nearly had a heart attack. So, really, I'm lucky she didn't throw a knife at my head.

Lily was so shocked she looked like her mum had threatened to throw a knife at her head. Did I want to stand under the mistletoe and kiss her? Well... That was debatable. She's bloody annoying after all and would probably criticize me for the way I kissed her. I would have done it, though. I've kissed her plenty of times and it's not like I haven't snogged other girls entirely emotionally detached. (Looking at you, Claire.)

But Lily's face was so disgusted. The idea of leaning in to kiss her while she wrinkled her nose that _not_ cute way she does and crossed her arms in a _not_ attractive way made me want to throw up. And then the mistletoe caught on fire.

Ugh. Such a prick.

Dinner isn't too uncomfortable, I suppose. Mum sits next to me, and Mr. Evans rants about Clyde and tennis, which I think is a Muggle form of dueling. I should convince Mr. Evans to teach me.

We watch a program on the television, which may be the only reprieve I feel during this grueling holiday. Or until I convince Sirius to share his stash of whiskey.

Yeah, I'm depending on the television.

Upstairs in my room I lie on my bed and stare at the ceiling. I need the full moon to come. Remus dreads it, but even he's got to admit the thrill of our adventures must be the best feeling in the world.

I write letters to Pete, Remus, and Sirius about the full moon, which is Christmas night, and whine about Evans a fair bit. I know what they'll say, but I don't really care. One of my many skills is ignoring their rubbish advice.

Remus says things like, "Be nice to her and try to be interested in what she's actually saying." And then when that ends with us rowing in our common room, he'll say, "You overreacted, she had a point, all you have to do is talk things through." Yeah, right, Remus.

Peter thinks the solution to everything is gifts. "Buy her Butterbeer, buy her a necklace, buy her some of that makeup thing girls like." Personally I suspect he's just trying to convince us to always be buying presents so that he'll get some, too, but then I'm not sure if he thinks that far ahead.

Wormtail said the way to get back with Evans—not that I ever would, mind you—is to buy her a year's supply of alcohol to deal with me. Moony and Padfoot laughed real hard at that one.

Sirius liked to suggest alcohol and other girls. I did that before this summer, but now Sirius doesn't give advice at all, the rubbish mate. He just says he doesn't get Evans and me. Well, that makes two.

Minus the "me" part. I'm totally understandable. What's complicated about a roguishly smart, handsome, gifted wizard with rotten taste in girls? Nothing.

This mess is all Evans.

I roll off my bed, grab a pair of pajama pants, and go to the shower.

"Going to bed at 9 during the hols is totally normal, right?" I say to my owl, Ernie. He turns away from me. "Oi, I'm not pathetic," I insist. "And be a bit nicer if you ever want to come out of that cage."

After my shower, I stare at myself in the foggy mirror. My wet hair is pretending to lie flat, but we all know that's a lie. Mum gave up on that dream when I was five. I shake my head, water droplets catching on the mirror, and grin, thinking of Sirius drying himself after bounding out of the Black Lake.

I really needed the full moon.

Yanking open the door, I head out into the hallway. "Oh!" I spin around.

Lily is standing in the hallway and staring at me with her mouth open. She's wearing...something. Is it pajamas? A dress? A SHIRT? A bloke could go mad trying to figure it out. All I know is that it's pink and short and… Where was it at school?

Focus, Potter! She's probably got that disgusted-

No. She's not disgusted. She's just staring at me-

Oh. Woah. She's staring at my chest. I haven't got a shirt on. Brilliant.

Should I flex? I should flex. My chest or my arms? I wonder which is less obvious. Never mind obvious, I'll do both.

I flex the best I can without breaking a sweat. Did it even do anything? What a prick. She probably didn't even notice, she's just crossing her arms over the pink shirt...

"What are you doing out here?" she hisses.

Typical. "Enjoying the view. Lovely hallway you have. Care to give a tour?"

She rolls her eyes. "Put a shirt on, Potter."

"Put clothes on, Evans." I eye her legs. Being utterly infuriating didn't stop her from being good looking, damn her.

Or don't. No clothes are fine, too.

Lily notices my gaze and her cheeks redden. She tugs the shirt down, and then she seems to think better of it. She smiles at me and—No. She can't. She wouldn't...

She yawns, raising her arms slightly, and the shirt inches a few centimeters higher. She also cast a spell that sucks all the oxygen out of the room, because it's impossible to breathe, my lungs are collapsing, I'm going to die-

Lily smirks, and I know she knows she's gotten the better of me. I should flex, but I don't think I even know how at this rather uncomfortable moment.

Can I speak? I try.

"Funny. I liked the bikini better, though."

Whew. Good one, Potter. She's going to hate...you thinking of her in a bikini. You hate you thinking of her in a bikini.

I need to get out of this bleeding house.

"Just get out of my hallway, Potter," she snaps, crossing an arm over her chest and pulling the shirt down with her other hand. I hate the way she says Potter. I hate the way she spits it at me, like a curse word. It makes me want to change my own name.

"Your hallway? Sorry, I thought we were sharing this house for Christmas, Evans." You can't spit her name. It just rolls off your tongue like a sweet.

"We are. Or we are until you accidentally set my house on fire, as well." She glares at me.

My face feels incredibly hot and I know she can see it. Bugger. "It was an accident."

"Yeah, I'm sure." She pushes past me and goes into the bathroom. I expect her to slam the door in my face, but she closes it gently.

Hey! She must not actually be mad then. Maybe it was just a smart remark or-

Cabinet doors slowly open and quietly close. Ah. She's just trying to be silent for our parents. Her mum recently went to bed, said she wasn't feeling well.

Never mind then, she really does hate me.

Not that I care, mind you. I don't care one bit.

* * *

I wouldn't have put it past my mother and Mrs. Evans to send us to the food store purely for the sake of forcing Lily and I to hang out together, but it seems that our trip actually served a purpose. Mrs. Evans was apparently serious when she said she would teach Mum how to bake cookies, because she begins to line up so much sugar, chocolate, and other weird Muggle ingredients (what the hell is flour?) on the counters by noon today that it looks like she's preparing to feed a small army.

And that small army is me and me alone. I feel myself start to drool at the idea that I could be the first person to grab a pan of cookies out of that hot metal bin—interestingly called the oven—and eat them without Sirius or any other greedy men reaching over my shoulder.

"Grab an apron, James," says Mrs. Evans, pointing to the open pantry.

"Er…" I look longingly at the television. There were so many buttons waiting to be pushed and screens to be changed. How heavy was a telly, anyway? More importantly, would anyone notice if I grabbed it and ran from the room?

Mrs. Evans chuckles. "Did you really think we were going to be baking cookies and then bringing them to you while you napped all day?"

Her tone said I should find that absurd, but I was having difficulty finding the problem with that. Women.

"Pinka finds great joy from waking me from a nap with food she made," I point out.

Mrs. Evans eyes me suspiciously, but I see the humor in her eyes. "Are you suggesting I be a house elf, James Potter?"

"Probably, Mum," mutters Lily, who's already put on a pink apron with yellow flowers. I glare at her, but she smiles sweetly back, and I look away quickly before she can see the corners of my lips pulling up into a smile.

Traitorous, unthinking emotions.

"Of course not," I say, "I was just thinking that _I_ should wake _you_ from a nap with fresh made cookies and—"

Mum's pulling a deep red apron over her head and holding out a blue one towards me. Why are there so many aprons in this house? I shouldn't even know what an apron is. I should be off spending my holidays flying or coming up with Quidditch plays!

"Amy, you have some gift. I've had that boy for almost 18 years, and I don't think I ever heard him offer to cook while I rested instead until today."

"That's because you're always resting," I cheekily say. The blue apron promptly smacks me in the face.

Should have seen that one coming.

Mrs. Evans assigns me the chocolate chip cookies, which I make rather well, I must say. But when Lily brings over her bowl of caramel and vanilla mix and a black pan to stand next to me, she eyes my bowl distastefully. Huh. Maybe the mix is supposed to be more solid, like hers… Where's all her water in the bowl anyway? Oh, who cares? Chocolate chip cookies or chocolate chip soup, I'm sure it tastes all the same.

"Hey," says Lily.

I continue to stir the wooden spoon around my bowl, bracing myself for her criticism. "Hey."

"So I was thinking last night," she says in a low voice. The wooden spoon moves quicker as I try to convince myself saying, "About me?" is counterproductive and that she might dump her bowl of cookie mix on my head, which would be a total waste. Also, it might ruin my hair.

Although running my hands through it and finding chocolate chips could be an interesting change.

Wait.

No.

Gross. Eleven year old me just shuttered at my depravity.

"I was thinking about this summer"—huh?—"and school"—er—"and the holidays. And I think we should be friends."

The spoon clatters out of my hand. "Sorry?"

Did she just say friends? Did Lily Evans, my ex-enemy/ex-friend/ex-girlfriend, just say she should be _friends_ with me? Friends? Us? How much sugar has she inhaled? Are these cookies poisonous? Is this a prank?

"Yeah." She refuses to meet my eyes. I hate it when she does that. "I had a lot of fun this summer, you know, and then school started, and it was good at first"—the words are rushing out of her mouth, and I wonder if she rehearsed this speech—"but then we… Well, then it ended not so well—"

"Yeah, I was there," I say a bit spitefully. Merlin, how stupid does she think I am?

"Right. But this summer was good. Really good." She abandons her pan and bowl of not-soup cookies and picks up a wooden tube with handles on the side, rolling it around on the table a lot. "Even with all the awful stuff that happened, it was one of my best summers. That was when we were good together."

We were good together up until a few weeks ago, so I don't know why she's pretending—

"Maybe we should have just stayed friends."

"Yeah. Maybe."

"I want that again." The pin rolls faster between her hands.

"What?"

"To be your friend. I want this Christmas to be like our summer together. I want to have fun and I—I want you and I to be okay, and I want to make my parents and your mum happy and—that's what I want."

"As your Christmas present?" I make my voice light and teasing, but I'm desperate for her to look up at me.

She does. The invisible ropes around my chest loosen. Smiling slightly she says, "Yes. When you showed up at our house in June, I had no idea the summer was going to be what it was. And I thought these hols were going to be miserable, but I don't want them to be miserable. I want to be proven wrong again for only the second time in my life."

Ah, yes. Another reminder that she thought last summer was going to be absolutely terrible because I showed up while I was bloody speechless at my luck. I sure did miss this feeling. I must remember to keep Lily around, as she is practically—nearly always—bringing up old feelings that are the complete bane of my existence.

"Do you?"

Oh, right. I should probably whine later. "Do I want to be miserable during Christmas? Bloody course not. Who do you think I am, a cantankerous old berk?"

Lily giggles and shrugs. The weird rolling tool is motionless on the table.

"So, what's the first step to being just friends again?"

What are the odds she'll say snogging all our emotions away?

"Hmm." She looks at me thoughtfully and taps a finger to her lips, which are looking… _Completely revolting_ and _utterly un-kissable_ , Potter. "I would probably say that your cookies should be chucked out the window and you're hopeless in the kitchen. Oh, and I would say something about how awful your hair looks."

The corners of my lips jerk up. "Right. And I would probably say something like how at least I can get away with not doing my hair, because right now you look like a mad hag trying to lure kids into your house with cookies."

She beams at me. "Exactly. See this is good. You and me—friends—it's good." She grabs the round tool jerkily, and it slips out of her hand and clatters to the floor. Blimey—is she nervous? Ha! Lily's nervous around _me_! Now she knows how it feels! Not that she ever knew how nervous or excited I was when she said we could be friends. When I had suggested we hang out that summer as friends and she said yes, my whole body felt like it was on fire and I had an insane amount of energy coursing through my veins. I practically ripped a muscle during my celebratory dancing back at my house. Not that I ever told her that. I would off myself right now if she ever found out.

I pretend not to notice and try to keep a mad grin off my face, but… That's not exactly how Lily and I do friends.

Friends. I could be her friend. I want to be her friend. I need to be able to be her friend. Friends were better than any other actually possible alternative.

"Pathetic," I mutter. She stands back up.

"Shut up, Potter. Wait until you see the disappointment in my mother's eyes when she sees how you've ruined her cookies. You'll probably be forced to sleep outside."

"Mum would just magick me my own house in the backyard. It would probably be bigger than this shoebox, actually…"

Quicker than I can blink, she smacks the rolling pin on top of my head. "Ow!" Whoa. Did I just find myself a new Beater?

"Don't criticize the shoebox, Potter, or you won't live to see the cookies make it to the oven."

"Yes, ma'am. Now, seriously, is this all you Muggles do? _Bake_? What a horrible life it must be to work for your food and then have to _sit_ and _wait_ for it. Ovens are rubbish when you know how to do a simple heating spell…"

* * *

My cookies are such rubbish I don't even think I would feed them to Snivellus. Seriously. I would probably get sent to prison for attempted murder if I even indicated I was going to let him eat one.

Mrs. Evans insisted we put them in the oven, though, which I am sure Lily made her do, because she kept snickering when I had to scrape and peel the dough off the pan… _after_ they had been baked.

During dinner, Lily keeps saying things like, "Don't eat too much, James, or you won't be able to eat your cookies afterwards." So, with a subtle flick off my wand under the table, I make a loud _bang_ come from the kitchen, and when Mum and Lily's parents turn to look (Petunia was having dinner at her boyfriend's), I flash Lily a very rude hand gesture. Her mouth drops in surprise. Ha! I chuckle to myself.

As if I would just let her—

My fingers flail forward in an attempt to grasp the tablecloth, the table, the beans—anything—but my chair is soaring perfectly backwards, flinging me to my death, and the last thing I'll see is her smirking green eyes—

 _Crash!_

I slam onto the ground. Clutching my elbow, I wail in pain. Can I make myself cry? I should totally cry. Maybe I even broke my arm. It was a rather nasty—

Oh. Huh. With one hand holding my arm, I feel absolutely no pain. It was like I landed on a pillow. Cushioning Charm—she was annoyingly good at those when we first learned them fifth year. Now I just look like an idiot with no injuries to milk. Lily Evans is such a prig—a secret prig, to top it off. Much worse than if she owned up to it.

Mrs. Evans and Mum jumped up to help me off the floor, but I quickly brush them off. "I'm fine, I'm fine." Mr. Evans seems to still be looking for the source of the first interruption.

"God, James, you've got to be more helpful than that. You could hurt yourself," says Lily so sweetly I nearly gag. She called me James, though. Twice now. If she wasn't such an awful friend, I would be a lot happier that she was saying my name again.

"Yes, listen to her, dear," says Mum. "She wants only what's best for you."

As everyone turns back to their food, I catch Lily's gaze across the table, and she mouths, "Definitely not" with a smirk that could rival mine. I seem to have a very deranged ex-enemy/ex-friend/ex-girlfriend/current friend. Here's the worst part: I'm pleased about it. I know. Clearly I've been cursed.

After dinner, we all settle down in the living room to watch a movie, something called "It's a Wonderful Life." Lily insists so sternly that everyone stays awake and pay perfect attention to the movie with no interruptions that I feel my life may be at stake. Thank Merlin she forgot about the cookies, though, because I don't think—

As if I'm powerful enough to summon the complete opposite of what I want, a plate piled with my "cookies" finds its way into my lap. Oh. Good. I really did want to eat gelatin-like dirt for dessert. What a way to end the day.

Carefully, I lift one of the objects to my mouth. Where's Pinka at a time like this? She never would have made me suffer like this. Everyone in this room, on the other hand, watches me with utter fascination. What's worse, eating a handful of shit very quickly or eating shit slowly?

I shove the brown mush into my mouth, dropping pieces down my shirt and on the couch, but who cares about a few crumbs when I am GOING TO THROW UP RIGHT HERE IN THIS VERY ROOM.

OH, MERLIN, WHAT DID I CREATE?

I look around rapidly for somewhere to get sick, but then I realize that that is exactly what Lily wants, and what Lily wants is what I do not want. (In a friendly way, of course.) I grin and force the strange matter down my throat, ignoring the feeling of death gripping my stomach, and grab another. When Lily sees my stubbornness, she turns back to the telly and starts the tape.

Luckily for me, she's so entranced during the movie that I'm able to vanish the remaining cookies. When I'm not thinking about the awful taste in my mouth, I realize the movie we're watching is fascinating and also really depressing. The main bloke, named George, is a good man his whole life, and you think it pays off when he's got the beautiful girl, a job, the kids, a house. Man, he had it all right. And then everything goes to shit. (I understand what that's like, George.)

Petunia comes home about halfway through the movie, but she doesn't join us. (Luckily for me. The only seat left was next to me on the couch.) A little later, Mrs. Evans falls asleep halfway through the movie, and Mr. Evans takes her upstairs. I pretend not to notice Lily's shoulders slumping when they leave, but it's hard. I know how that feels. It's enough to make you want to jump off a bridge on Christmas Eve.

Oh, right. Anyway, so good ol' George decides to kill himself because he thinks everyone will be better off without him, but an angel stops him. This angel called Clarence saves him first, then shows George what life would look like without him.

In case you didn't see it coming, everything is shit without George, because George is awesome. He realizes he's got a great life, and I have a bit of a cold hit me at the end but I am absolutely _not_ crying. The sniffles are a part of the cold. And the shine in my eyes is from the cookies, I swear.

Mum stays until the end, and she definitely cries. Which works well for me, because her loud sniffles disguise mine. Thanks, Mum!

Before she heads upstairs, she kisses me on the top of my head and says, "Goodnight, my little George Bailey." Oh, Circe. Mum is going to make me cry again. Probably intentionally, knowing her.

Shake it off, Potter. It was just a random Muggle movie.

The house is eerily silent once Mum has gone to her room, and it's only Lily and I in the living room. Is sitting in a room with someone supposed to feel this tense?

"Tell me you didn't name your owl after Clarence in the movie," I blurt out.

Lily glares at me, but her lips are pressed together and her head is only slightly angled, so her glare really only scores an E.

"Do not mock my movie. It is the greatest movie you'll ever see. Star Wars included."

I hold my hands up in defense. "All right, all right. It was good, I'll give you that."

"Thank you." She tucks her legs under her and settles into the couch.

Should I ask her? I shouldn't ask her. There's a line. I would totally be crossing the line. I can't cross the line this quickly.

"Do you think that movie's right, that one person can really make that much of a difference in the world?"

I crossed the line.

Lily looks at me thoughtfully before grabbing a pillow and hugging it to her chest. She doesn't seem mad that I asked her a personal question like that (a first, as of late). Was she thinking the same thing, too? She used to always be able to figure out what I was thinking. Real annoying sometimes. Does that still work or did it end when she basically said she hated me?

"Yeah, I think so," she finally replies. "Just one person could totally change your life and make you who you are now. Most people probably don't even know that someone had affected them so much, I bet."

I know a lot (you don't get as many Os as I did by being an idiot), but did I know if I had a person that changed my life? Sirius, for sure. Remus, too. Without him I wouldn't be able to illegally transform into my Animagus form every month. Peter, as well.

Lily...

Now I'm really going mad. That blasted movie got me all sentimental. Lily? Change my life? More like ruin it. I can't even begin to count the number of points she's deducted from Gryffindor because of me. If she got erased like George Bailey... I would be fine.

Just fine.

"It's not all good either, you know," continues Lily. What are we talking about again? "People can change your life for the worse." Really? She's got to be performing some serious magic, there's no way- "Just look at You-Know-Who."

At the mention of him, my entire body tenses. I want to forbid this conversation from continuing; I want to pretend his whole existence never occurred; I want to run from the room and smash my face into a pillow until my heart beats at a normal pace again.

"Oh, sorry," says Lily sharply, doing that annoying read-your-mind trick. "I know you don't like talking about that." She turns her face away from me.

She's right: I don't. And though the words never found their way out of my mouth until the very end of our relationship, they're coming out at full-speed now. "Well, we both know how much you like talking about him."

"I don't like talking about him."

"Then why do you talk about him so much? You bring it up all the time, it's depressing."

She shakes her head. "You just don't get it. That's fine."

Ouch. With a little twinge in my chest, I realize it's not my job to try to "get" her anymore. That'll be someone else's priority soon enough. I've got to let it go. I'm officially unemployed.

"Yeah, well, I suppose you still don't get it either."

I don't say what I'm really thinking. I suppose, friends, not friends, or more than friends, some things are staying the same.

* * *

 **I hope that was worth the wait (at least partially)! I'm not going to promise update dates because then I just suck, but I'll do my best.**

 **Please let me know what you think about this chapter, I've never written James's POV for this story/series and am a bit nervous about it. Honest feedback is good! Review and follow as well if you want!**

 **MG**


	4. Flying and Driving

**Ahhhhhhhhh I'm honestly so sorry. I just… wasn't writing. This semester completely and utterly drained me. School, two jobs, an attempt at a social life… I really just valued sleep too much to convince myself to write a new chapter. (Although I did edit some of the later ones, which I'm excited about!)**

 **To everyone who continued to read and review and favorite and follow, thank you so much! Whenever I checked my mail and saw a new email, I felt so happy. I'm not giving up on this story, and often resort to daydreaming about it in class and as I fall asleep, so have faith!**

 **Thank you to:**

**lily and james live on** , **The Lord of Voldemort of Rivia** (hope you didn't forget that this exists! :P), **Avada Kedavra Avada Off** , **All Aboard the Jily Train** (Thanks so much! I hope you stick through, there will be plenty of lovey stuff worth it, I think), **SuraWaldelfe** (Hold out on what happened between them! I'm holding it out intentionally to try something new, but each chapter has more background! Thanks for reading!), **AvilaAddy** , **Vera Verto** (I love jealous james, don't you worry! Thank you so so so much though! Yes, I do love how stubborn they are! It makes for some goods lines I think haha thanks for your compliments!), **Awesome Sauce** , **Quirks13** (length will probably be 15 chapters? Tbd. Summer Magic was way longer than anticipated, but I hope to take this like SM up until they go back to school), **belongtothe80s** , **emeraldblossom34** , **Staglovr** (James is thinking negatively about Lily for the same reason Lily is thinking negatively about James - coping mechanism!), **effervescentbutterbeer** (I agree, Peter sucks), **Escapingthisworldwithfiction** , **ToriAlwaysPotterHeart1313** , **moonyann** , **MissesE** (thank you! Probably the slightest bit shorter than SM, but SM also turned out longer than I anticipated), **francescamaher** (Thank you! I really liked getting into James's head!), **NellyWhite00** (ahhh, you need to expose yourself to more perfect james/lily stories!), **That daisy flower girl** (Thank you so so much!), , **Supergoddad** (oooh, hopefully not too arrogant? He's definitely nursing with pride with Lily, and Quidditch was Quidditch. Thanks for feedback!), **Infinity Lily** , **Tyem Marodyor** (oh wow thank you! And that James sounds too Lily-ish was actually a concern of mine. I don't think I'm all that confident in my abilities to make them sound like two very different voices, which might be why I limit the James chapters…), **pulyauthorgirl** , **Jilly4Life** , **big sunglasses** , and all the **guest** reviewers! Your feedback and words of encouragements and pleas to hurry up already mean a lot!

 **P.S. So I miiiiight have said in another chapter that Christmas was in two days but this chapter is Christmas Eve Eve so just go with it.**

* * *

The girl's eyes widen with fear. She looks down at her surroundings, unsure of what's happening, before she is engulfed.

Her face is revealed again, but I know it'll soon be consumed. Should I help her? I have to; I have no choice. The pain and horror she's feeling must be too much for her. Tears flood the rims of her brown eyes. Oh, the agony she must feel as she's swimming in disgusting pink taffeta-

Wait. No. She's crying tears of happiness.

Ah, bollocks. Should have known better anyway. She's Petunia's bridesmaid, after all. Surely she would have the same horrendous fashion sense as my sister. (Read: pink bridesmaid dresses. Big. Pink. Dresses. If I wasn't so afraid she would murder me on the spot, I would ask what street corner the bridesmaids are going to afterwards. Or perhaps which 12-year-old girl's birthday party. Honestly, these dresses could be taken in so many directions. It's splendid.)

The only bright spot in this sea of crinkly pink fabric is that I don't have to wear one of those dresses. Which I am perfectly pleased about and _not_ disappointed in the slightest. Yes, you might think that after Tuney and I had planned our weddings for years and promised each other that we would be the other's Maid of Honor and that we would do everything together to plan the weddings and would make sure to go wedding dress shopping together and—Sorry, what was the point of that?

Oh, right. WELL DESPITE ALL THAT, I haven't the faintest hint of bitterness. Who cares that Petunia literally fought with my mum for weeks about her insistence to not have me as a bridesmaid? Not me. I would look atrocious in pink. (And the idea that she chose pink specifically to ensure that I didn't try to later wheedle my way into one of those gowns is utterly absurd, and I have NOT spent hours pondering it.)

Now I can wear whatever I want to the wedding, look bloody gorgeous, and find a very, very distant relative of Vernon's to fill me with champagne and snog away. Petunia did me a favor, really.

That didn't stop Mum from dragging me to the shop to watch the bridesmaids get fitted. Said I needed to be there for moral support. If I had known the dresses were going to look like this, I would have said they needed psychotherapy, and I would be happy to drive. Alas, here I am, watching their deranged squeals of delight (Delight? Sure, ladies) as Mum putters around the store, looking for a dress to wear to the wedding. I make a face at her when she pulls out an orange sheath. If it mated with Tuney's bridesmaid dress, it could destroy the meaning of fashion.

Finally, Petunia's three bridesmaids and one whale-er, sorry, one Marge, the awful broad that she is-are done. They've spun, they've twirled, I've thrown up, the whole deal. As the girls are putting their clothes on, Petunia glides over to Mum-oh yes, glides. She's so happy, I think she's forgotten I'm here!

"Weren't they beautiful, Mum?" she sighs.

Mum smiles. "Oh, yes, dear. They were exactly what you wanted, and they all looked so splendid, Harriet especially." (Harriet is the maid of honor. We hate Harriet.)

"What do you think of this dress?" she nods towards a dusty pink dress that she's holding out with just two fingers. It's shiny, but it looks as smooth as one of her iced cakes. The wrinkles are minimal and it's got long sleeves without any massive poofs on the shoulders-a true miracle in this store. It's a wonder that this dress belongs in the same category of "pink" as the bridesmaid dresses. I like it.

"Hmm." Petunia looks at it thoughtfully and juts her chin out just a bit with narrowed eyes. "I like it... I'm afraid it might make you look a bit pale, though, Mum, but it is rather pretty."

Mum looks at it sadly, and I see what my sister meant. Her ivory fingers are practically glimmering against the fabric. Poor Mum didn't have even the slightest tan or extra freckles after this summer to hold on to until the wedding, unlike Petunia, Dad, and I.

"You're right, dear. I think it would be lovely on Ella, don't you? I should bring her down here so that she can get a dress for the big day, too."

Petunia's pale blue eyes nearly burst out of her skull. A vein in her neck springs forward like a flower blooming on the first day of spring. "What?" she hisses.

Uh-oh.

Mum looks to have the same thought, but she's rarely on the receiving side of this expression. I jump up from my chair and hurry over to the shelves they're standing by.

My hopelessly optimistic mother chuckles. "Ella and James are coming to the wedding, dear. They'll still be staying at the house with us by that day. It's not like they'll be staying home."

To be fair, Petunia's spluttering was exactly how I felt. The Potters were staying with us for THAT long? James was going to be at a wedding with ME? No, thanks, no can do. Mum, you're mad.

"I don't-no, they cannot-how dare you-they will-"

Yeah, you tell her, Tuney.

"I will not have those freaks at my wedding," she hisses.

Mum looks startled. Wow. She seems more offended that Petunia is calling Mrs. Potter and James freaks than she has been when she called me a freak as of late. Glad to see her list of favorites is out, and I'M NOT ON IT. I'm only her bloody daughter.

"Petunia Therese Evans, those are our friends-"

"Your friends, Mum, not mine. And it's my day, not yours."

She gasped. I think that's my cue. "Hey, Mum, let's talk about this later, I don't think-"

"The Potters have never been to a wedding like ours! Ella was so excited to see you in your gown!"

"Send her a picture," snaps Petunia a bit cold heatedly considering Mum is defending her current best mate. "They can walk into a random church any Sunday for the next year, but I swear to God if they come to my wedding-"

"Petunia!" calls out Mary Anne (one of the bridesmaids) from a few steps behind my sister. She's back in her Muggle clothes (even witches would have known to stay away from those bridesmaid dresses, though), and she's got her satchel thrown casually over her shoulder, one hand nervously holding her other elbow. "Is everything all right?" She comes closer to us.

I always thought I liked Mary Anne, mostly because I think I never really understood how she and Petunia have managed to stay friends for so long. It's hard to see it, considering she's so polite and sweet and Petunia is... Well, we could just rewind to thirty seconds ago.

Petunia smiles widely, showing off all her teeth, and nods. "Yes, yes, 'course. Come, let's go talk to the seamstress." She grabs Mary Anne's arm and tugs her away. Her worst fear of someone knowing that I'm a witch almost came true. She was not going to be pleasant later, that's for sure.

Mum and I stand in silence for a moment. "Come on, Mum, let's go warm the car up."

In the car, she stares straight ahead, and I can see that she's less hurt now than annoyed. It's almost like Petunia refused to include her own blood

relative into the bridesmaid lineup. How odd.

"Do you really think she meant it when she said the Potters weren't coming?"

Er. I look at Mum incredulously. Has she ever said something harsh and not meant it?

Mum sighs and looks the other way. "Ridiculous."

I must admit: I'm with Petunia here. Why do the Potters have to be present at everything? This already means they're staying for the New Year, too. Haven't they got their own family and house to go to?

Ah, bollocks. Mrs. Potter probably can't stand being home without Mr. Potter. I can't imagine what it was like these last few months without James, stuck alone in that great big house. I hate recognizing my own selfishness. I would much rather be blissfully unaware.

Petunia opens one of the back doors and quickly climbs in. I see Vernon across the lot patiently waiting for his sister, Marge, to shove herself through the door hole-it'll probably be a long day for the both of them at this rate.

I glance over my shoulder to see that Petunia's put her safety belt on, and then I take us out of the lot and onto the road.

Silence. Pure silence.

I swiftly push the button for the radio, but we only get faint voices and a lot of static that grows more annoying and louder as I scroll through the channels. Is it weird if I just play static to avoid this awkward silence?

Yes, yes it is.

Ugh. The radio shuts off.

Mum turns around in her seat. "I understand if you don't want utter strangers at your wedding, Petunia, but it's the Potters! They're our friends!"

"They're _your_ friends."

"Fine, they're my friends. But that's still more than the fifty people Vernon's invited from the office that neither of you have spoken with before," she quips.

My jaw slightly drops. Woah. Mum shows no mercy and absolutely no sign of backing down.

"That's-that's-that's different!"

"Is it, sweetie? All I want is to have my best friend watch my beautiful daughter marry the love of her life."

Petunia's marrying a can of dust cleaner? How progressive of her...

"I would have to pay for more dinners and seating."

"The church hasn't filled up, and you just invited two more distant relatives of Vernon's last week. Plus, you said Mary Anne's parents just rang to say they wouldn't be able to fly back from America."

Wow, just call her Amy "Master of Debate" Evans.

Petunia pauses. I look up at my mirror in front of me and see that she looks rather miffed that Mum is coming up with these points.

"Mum, I just don't-"

The car in front of me slams on its brakes, their little red lights not so little anymore, and I thrust my foot onto the brake pedal. I don't bother to try to switch gears; I throw my arm out in front of Mum as we screech to a sudden halt and our car stops but our bodies continue to go forward. Mum's chest smacks into my arm, and Petunia audibly gags in the back at her sudden restraints, but our belts pull us all back without serious injury. Thank Merlin.

"Is everyone okay?" I ask, faintly out of breath.

Mum nods. "What the hell was that?" demands Petunia.

"I don't know, this car in front of me just stopped." A line of cars in front of us has formed, and one behind is taking shape. Yet the stoplight is a distinct green.

The cars in front of me start to move over into the other lane and pass through the intersection. I slowly restart the car and switch lanes as well. As we come nearer to the stoplight, I see that a car is basically parked in the other lane, causing the holdup. What a wanker.

Wait... Hold on... Oh, no...

"Is that..." mutters Mum.

To my great delight, it seems that James is the one behind the wheel, with my father trying to wave the cars behind them forward. James's knuckles are white as he grips the wheel and the clutch, and he keeps trying to switch gears, but the car only putters forward half a meter, splutters a bit, and then dies again.

I immediately begin laughing.

James Potter! Starting a traffic jam! Because he can't drive a bloody automobile! This is rich. This is brilliant. Oh- The light has turned red.

Oh, thank you, thank you. I knew today was going to be a great day.

Mum rolls down her window and I can see more clearly that James is in complete and utter panic. When was the last time he looked so blustered? This even looks worse than when I accidentally walked into his room without knocking and he was stark naked except for a measly rag he called a "towel" back in September. (Worse for him, of course. I had a good laugh at the whole thing. I've never seen a face so red before.) Mrs. Potter sits in the back seat behind Dad with one hand holding onto the roof, the other clutching her chest.

Dad looks to be calmly telling James how to get the car running. He's always been the calm one; he taught me how to drive after I told Mum she was never allowed to help me again. James doesn't do calm very well, though. I think he's always been so used to people yelling back-his mum, Sirius, McGonagall, me-that calm only upsets him more, which I think is happening here. Not to be a know it all or make a rash judgment, of course not; I just think the flailing arms and punching of the steering wheel are strong clues worth considering.

Mrs. Potter turns her head to rest it on the window-probably wondering what hell she signed herself up for-and sees Mum's wave. Dad leans over James eagerly and rolls down the window closest to us. When James sees us, his eyebrows shoot up and then he's looking at the roof of the car, mouthing words I know he can only mouth in the presence of his mother.

"Hello, love!" shouts my father. "Hello, Lily, Petunia! I'm teaching James to drive!" He grins and pats James on the shoulder. He looks like he would like to die at the present moment. I snort, and my mother giggles, causing me to erupt into a fit. I don't look at James's face.

"Do be careful, dear," says Mum. "We can't afford to pay to replace any parts on the car!"

Ha! A laugh bursts out of my mouth. Even Mum knows that car probably won't make it back in one piece.

James looks shocked. "Oh, no! Not anything against you, James," she says in an attempt to console him, because now he looks like he would like to roll the car in a river and be done with it. "I'm sure you're a, er, wonderful driver with practice."

Luckily for her, the light turns green and I drive off to the sounds of more angry horns blaring at James. In a few minutes we're home. How long did it take them to drive those few blocks? The whole time we've been gone? Mrs. Potter looked like that car was her prison and she was ready to break free.

Inside, Petunia rounds on my mother. "Did you see that? He couldn't even drive! He was utterly useless and idiotic, and had no sense about how to do something as simple as-"

"Don't be a twat, Petunia," I said angrily, surprising myself a bit. "He's been in an auto maybe three times before this."

"Exactly," she hisses. "Those people don't even understand autos! They're fascinated by the telly, they barely know how to use the light switches, and they make their beds with the-the- Well, they don't make them properly! They don't know how to do anything normally, and I will not have Vernon and his family finding out about this nonsense on our wedding day."

I choke on the air around me. What? WHAT?

"What do you mean 'finding out', Petunia?" I say slowly. "You have told him what I am, right?"

"Of course not," she sniffs.

"Petunia!" shrills my mother.

"What?" I scream. "He knows nothing?"

"I saw absolutely nothing wrong with sticking with the story we tell at Shrivers."

I laugh derisively. My future brother-in-law doesn't even know what I am! My sister-my own flesh and blood-is so ashamed of me that she's not even going to tell her fiancé I'm a witch.

"What happens if he comes over to visit? Are we all just supposed to keep up the pretense? Lie about Lily?" Mum may be on the verge of tears. "What are you going to do when Lily is married and you all spend the hols together? Is her family supposed to lie, too?"

Petunia crosses her arms, but she looks away guiltily.

Will she have the audacity to tell Mum the truth, that when the time comes and we have our own families, that Petunia won't visit me? She won't ring, she won't babysit my child or remember his birthday. She won't encourage Vernon to befriend my husband. She'll teach them to resent my family the way she resents me, even if she doesn't explain why.

Petunia says nothing. Well, good. At the very least she's keeping some part of my mother's dream alive.

"You have to tell him, Petunia," I say calmly.

"No I do not."

"Yes, you do, because one day he will find out."

She looks at me with narrow eyes. "Are you threatening me?"

"No. But if you think it won't slip out one day-that for the rest of our lives, Mum, Dad, or I won't accidentally say something-that you'll be able to keep this bottled up forever- If you think that, you're a fool and completely wrong."

Her gaze is harsh and without emotion, but I stare back, daring her to question me.

"If you think he'll be more understanding when he finds out in seven years rather than now," I say seriously, "go right ahead and keep this secret."

She can't use him as an excuse to cut me out of her life. If she wants to do that, she'll have to take responsibility for it. I need her to tell him.

"I can make my own decisions about my life, my fiancé, and my wedding," she says. "And Vernon and I want nothing to do with freaks, you or the Potters. And they are _not_ coming to the wedding."

"Oh."

Dad, Mrs. Potter, and James are standing in the doorway to the living room. 'Oh' is right. HOW did they come in so quietly?

We all stare at each other in silence. I half expect Petunia to apologize-after all, she is never outright cruel to people, only behind their backs-but she doesn't. She drops her eyes to the ground, but I bet that's only because she's afraid one of the Potters will hex her.

"Ah, well, this is great!" exclaims James jovially. He claps his mum on the shoulder. "See, and you were all worried about what to get the newlyweds. Now we can save our money and go out to dinner or something." He drops down onto the couch. "Thanks for that, Petunia, we were really stressing. She thought you could use something like a broom or one of those dust sucker machines, but you seem like the type to already have one for each day of the week." He grabs the remote and points it at the telly, turning it on to some program featuring two children snickering with each other.

Petunia's chosen response is to leave the room silently. Her bedroom door slams a few minutes later.

Dad hurries over to Mum, who's wringing her hands on the kitchen counter. "Amy, what happened?"

Mrs. Potter has a less polite tone with James. She whacks him on the back of the head and asks, "What was that, young man? Where were your manners? You made everything worse."

He rolls his eyes. "Don't be dramatic, Mum. It was better than us all standing here staring at each other. Besides, she was the one calling you and Lily freaks. What was I supposed to do, just let her say that?"

"Yes!"

He made a face. "Well I didn't, and I was a lot nicer than she deserved. She bloody well already has two vrack-ooms for each day of the week, I bet."

I look at James, feeling my heart pound in my chest particularly erratically. Get it together, Heart, we are not having a stroke today. A feeling swells up in my chest, similar to the one I felt when James punched Nate this summer or hexed those Death Eaters after they said those awful things about me. It's a feeling of gratitude threatening to spill forth and it makes me want to grab him and-

He catches my gaze, and for six long seconds we stare unfalteringly at each other before I quickly turn away. "I'll be in my room," I announce to no one in particular.

As I walk out, James runs his hand through his hair, pulling up any bit that miraculously was lying flat, and my stomach swoops. In my room, I sit on my bed. I seem to be experiencing an awful case of feelings. I shake my head. I don't have time for something as foolish as feelings, especially not for James Potter. That hippogriff has flown away.

Yet I can't help but remember the way it felt to have James look at you like he was, most assuredly, on your side. Or the way he knew what to say to make you want to laugh when you were upset, like downstairs. Or the way I could just grab him and kiss him whenever I wanted, or how nice it was to just be able to hold onto his warm hands for as long as I liked.

I flop backwards. The thing about hating James after what happened is that I was so preoccupied with hating him that I never bothered to think about how much I missed him. And now that I've decided to stop hating him and be his friend-which is exactly what we should be: just friends-there's a lot more space in my head and room in my chest to think about the things that I'll never be able to do with him again. Now that we're together in this tiny house, it seems very easy to realize just how far away he is right now.

And if I were being honest, I would say that I feel like I miss him, just a bit.

Anyway. No time like Christmas to squash feelings of affection, right?

* * *

"Come in," I say that evening to the knock on my door. The smallest, stupidest part of me hopes that it is Petunia coming to apologize or talk things out or even to yell at me some more, but James walks in.

Oh. He can't see what I was thinking earlier, right? I mean, there's absolutely no way for him to actually know that I miss him. He can't read minds or anything. Still. I turn back to the desk drawer I was trying to rearrange, hiding my face. Just in case.

"Hey."

"Hey."

I hear a squeak from the hinges of my mattress that tells me he sat on my bed.

"You okay?" he asks cautiously.

"Splendid."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Do I? I look at him and he's gazing back at me without any judgment or reservations. Could I say it out loud, though? Could the words, 'No, my sister thinks I'm the most repulsive person she's ever met and won't talk to me ever after her wedding,' aloud?

"I know you didn't really like to talk about it before," he continues, "you know, at school"-when we were together-"but if you wanted to now, we could."

"No, I don't want to talk about it," I finally say. "Thanks, though." He nods and looks around my room. "So you tried to drive, huh?" I ask in a suddenly cheery voice.

He hangs his head like I've just crowned him the Head of Slytherin. "For Circe's sake, why has anyone ever bothered to drive? I don't think Muggles could have invented anything more complicated if they tried."

"Well... No, you're completely wrong, almost astoundingly wrong actually, but it is tough at first."

"At first?" he scoffs. "I wouldn't get back in that seat even if you told me it would save my life."

I laugh. It sounds like his first driving experience was more traumatizing than mine, and I had heard a whole new string of curse words from someone's gran a block over.

Turning back to my drawer, I pull out wads of parchment that I've been keeping for far too long. I start sifting through the pile, which is mostly old class notes and then notes I wrote in class to Marlene. Whoops.

James sighs very heavily. I pause but I don't say anything. He sighs again, more forlornly and so long that I hear a little hitch in the sigh when he has to draw breath again.

"Do you need a new lung or a new life?"

"Huh?" He sits up (I suppose he reclined on my bed, too, probably for dramatic effect) and squints at me.

"With a sigh like that you either can't breathe because of a failed lung or you are very depressed. Which is it?"

"Oh, you just know me so well, Lily!" he exclaims dramatically. "I knew you could sense my distress..."

"Well you came to my room and started sighing pretty miserably, so..."

"It's Quidditch. I've got to play. I need to be on a broom. There are so many plays I need to try as well before school starts if we want to have any shot at winning the Cup."

"You flew less than a week ago, Potter." He doesn't even blink. "Okay..." Mad man. "So what? Just sneak out and go fly at your house. You had no problem doing it this summer."

"Er, yeah, here's the thing: I was actually thinking you should come with me."

"Me?" He's totally mad. "I barely know how to fly and I don't play Quidditch."

"And your dad," he says, completely ignoring me.

"My dad? My dad can't Apparate!"

"Exactly, which is why we've got to go somewhere we can drive to."

"To fly on broomsticks? You're mad, there's nowhere we can go without Muggles seeing."

"There is..."

"There isn't."

"I'm sure there is, Evans, you've just got to be creative."

"There isn't."

"There is."

"Potter, I'm telling you, there's not."

"There is."

He's right: there is.

* * *

"Psst." I peek over Dad's book cautiously. This is mad. James is mad. I'm mad. "Dad..."

He lowers his book. "Can I help you? I'm at a very exciting part."

"You've read that book four times."

"That does not make it any less exciting."

I roll my eyes. "James and I have a plan."

The book slowly lowers more. "What kind of plan?"

"To go flying."

"Oh, well, you should probably ask your mother first-"

"With you."

"With me? Good Lord, Lily, I-"

"In town."

"Now you're just being silly-"

"James wants to take you flying since you took him driving."

The book drops on the table and closes shut. It didn't even have a bookmark. "Me? Flying? Why, why, why I didn't think I could ever- Me? On a broomstick? Are you sure, Lily?" He looks like I just told him Father Christmas is coming early.

"Yeah, he says he's got a broom large enough for two, if that's what you want."

"If that's what I want... Good Lord... Well, where are we going?"

* * *

It's half past ten, and everyone in the house is sleeping. Except for me. I feel like one of James Bond's women preparing the car before we flee.

I climb into the driver's seat and turn the car on. A few minutes later, Dad comes out and slides into the car. James follows suit, saying he's already packed the car with "all the goods we need." Soon enough, I'm driving us through town to follow through on one of the stupidest things I've ever done.

I park the car cautiously outside of our town's football stadium twenty-five minutes later. There's no one else around. "Give us a sec, Dad." James and I get out, and I slowly withdraw my wand.

"What are we doing?" asks James.

"Making sure no people are around," I say as we walk closer to the stadium. "What if there's security guards?"

"Like at Gringotts? Is football really that valuable?"

" _Homenum Revelio_ ," I say. Nothing. I say it once more, but it's clear we're the only three here. All the sane people know it would be useless and impossible to break into the stadium. And by sane people, I mean the Muggles. I feel a thrill of excitement. So this is the kind of power we have as witches and wizards.

We walk to the front gate where it is, obviously, locked. I want to laugh a little. There would be no way we could do this without magic. " _Alohamora_."

The lock clicks. That's it; we're in. I'm officially breaking and entering.

"I can't believe we're doing this."

"Me neither."

"You? This is exactly something you would do."

"I meant I can't believe you're doing it."

Ah, yes. That's cause I never do anything fun. "Shut up. I break the rules. I have fun."

"I know. I just didn't think you would with me now."

He's looking at me carefully. I should be casual. I shrug. Casually. Not at all with meaning. Completely casual.

"I'm glad you are." He smiles at me, much more casually than I'm able to smile back. Particularly with my heart racing, which should have STOPPED when he BROKE UP WITH ME. I need a new heart. Or no heart. No heart would be good.

"Hurry up, Dad's going to think the police have caught us."

Back at the car, James takes three broomsticks out of the back, and I carry a small trunk he says holds Quaffles. I ask if he brought Bludgers, but he says no, thank Merlin.

The inside of the dome is extraordinarily creepy. It's not the biggest stadium, no where near the ones in London, and can only seat less than 10,000 people. But when a couple thousand people should be sitting there, staring down the field, and there are only three of you on the said field after magicking your way in, you're going to get the chills, there's no way around it.

Thankfully for us, they've left a few lights on, but we don't get the full blast of the lights. It's a bit wasteful of the electricity, actually, but considering I would have to somehow produce light for us to fly otherwise, I don't complain.

"What if one of those air cars see us?" asks James.

"Huh?"

"You know." He sticks his arms out and turns around a bit, making a whooshing noise. "The air cars."

"Sorry, can you do that again? I don't quite understand."

He does it again, pushing air out of his mouth louder and more forcefully and flapping his arms a bit. "You know, like the birds."

"I'm sorry, I still don't know what you mean. Imitate it again, but more dramatically."

He starts zooming around more loudly, and I can't help but burst out laughing. James immediately stops and drops his arms to his side. He glares at me.

"They're called airplanes, son," interjects Dad, "and she knew what you meant after the first demonstration."

James makes a very rude hand gesture when Dad looks up at the sky, but the image of him puttering around like a five year old pretending to be a plane is worth it.

"If an airplane sees us, we'll get our wands snapped and tried at the Ministry of Magic. Then probably arrested by the Muggles, too."

"Great, so we won't be seen by airplanes."

He unpacks the trunk and takes out a few Quaffles, and I see Dad inspecting the brooms. "They don't feel any different than a regular broom."

"It will when you're on it." James grins at him. He picks up a Quaffle and then the biggest broom he's brought. "All right, Mr. Evans. Are you ready to fly?"

Dad looks a bit pale, but he nods.

"With me or Lily?"

Dad glances at me cautiously. "Sorry, dear, but definitely not with you."

How rude! I go to grab a broom, the one that is not James's pride and joy. It vibrates at my touch. I'm a marvelous flyer, I'll have you know. At least, I was decent 6 years ago, but I'm sure I've absorbed more skill since after watching Quidditch and talking so much about it with James.

I slowly ascend into the sky, hoping my fake confidence will give me real confidence. About fifteen meters up I slowly start to fly in circles, moving faster with each turn until the wind is whipping my face and I'm forty meters high. James and Dad have gone up now, with Dad clutching James's waist, and they look like utter loons, but my aging father looks so young and alive and James looks so pleased with himself, that I think my smile might break my face.

James and Dad do a few loops around the stadium, never going above the highest seat, and I do some turns and dives of my own. I fly down to pick up a Quaffle, and I manage perfectly! I don't slip off my broom or have to try multiple times to grasp the Quaffle. Man, I should have tried out for the team. I start tossing it up in the air and catching it, which is a lot harder than it looks. The Quaffle falls through my fingers and drops to the ground. Damn. I suppose Quidditch is much more fun to watch, anyway.

"All right, Lily?"

The boys have flown back. I nod. "All right, Dad?"

"This is madness," he breathes with a grin.

"Want to race?" James asks. "We'll go easy on you, Lils." He winks.

I shake my head. "No need, I can beat your tandem broom with my eyes closed."

We fly towards the entrance, now at a height of over fifty meters, and start our race around the field. I laugh loudly to myself as I flatten my body against the broom and speed away from James and Dad, tasting the sweetness of victory and freedom and life. I get nervous when I have to turn slightly, though, imagining myself rolling off my broom to my death. James, obviously, has no room for fear in his brain, and he turns swiftly and quickly, and soon I'm looking at the back of my father's balding head. If I get beat by my 50 year old father holding onto my ex-boyfriend's waist, I'm going to eat this fake grass until I die.

As I urge my broom to go as fast as it can towards the entrance, Dad raises his arms triumphantly as he and James descend. I eye the grass with disgust. It can't actually taste that bad, can it?

"I let you two win. I didn't fancy seeing James cry over losing at Quidditch again."

"Oi, that was a brutal loss last year! Everyone else cried, too!"

I smirk before flying away. Dad slips off James's broom, waving him away. "I've got to see if I even remember how to stand, my boy."

James switches brooms then, sliding onto the one he keeps at school with ease. Soon he's doing all kinds of tricks, flips, and turns, throwing the Quaffle high before catching it dangerously close to the ground. He's showing off so blatantly that I can't help but roll my eyes, but Dad exclaims, "Brilliant!" each time. Eventually James corrals me into testing out a few plays with him. After dropping the Quaffle the first six times he throws it to me, I find my balance and catch every one afterwards. We race again a few times, twice with Dad on the larger broom with me. James never shows mercy.

Two hours later we're sneaking out of the stadium under the twinkling stars, locking the door again and shivering as we walk to the car. Dad asks James so many questions that I don't think he'll ever shut up about Quidditch. I peek into my rear view mirror as James explains the leagues to my dad (my poor father probably thinks I've been depriving him of the meaning of life with my lack of Quidditch knowledge). James's hair is wild from the flying and his eyes are bright as he leans forward to talk to my dad, his hands flying around excitedly. For the first time, I am truly happy to have the Potters with us this Christmas.

* * *

 _Four Weeks Ago_

The words swam before my eyes as I stared at the newspaper unblinkingly, my thoughts sluggish. An attack on Muggles... Eleven dead... Killed... For sport... You-Know-Who...

I shook my head and looked around, but there was little to distract me. James and I had headed straight to the library that night after dinner, with the intent to actually get our Defense work done before working on the schedule for next month's Prefect rounds. James currently pored over some book on Quidditch, not working like me, as the _Daily Prophet_ I had received at dinner was tempting me yet again. I couldn't look away. I couldn't think of anything else. I was completely fixated on those eleven nameless Muggles, who surely had friends and family. I wonder if any of them knew a witch or wizard... What if one was some witch's mum or dad...

"Hey," I whispered. James looked up from his book. I held up the paper. "Did you see this?"

He nodded grimly before turning his face down again.

Oh. I mean, I knew it was the library and all, but I expected him to say something more about it.

"It's terrible, isn't it?"

He nodded again and there was something in his eyes, but he still didn't actually say anything. Frustration flared within me. All I wanted was for him to understand how concerned I was and for him to say something to make me feel better. If I couldn't talk about this stuff with my boyfriend, whom could I talk about it with?

"Well, what do you think?"

"It sucks," he finally whispered back.

IT SUCKS? Was that a joke? Homework sucks. Spilling pudding down your robes sucks. Innocent people getting murdered… _that more than sucks!_ It was horrifying! It was a tragedy! It was driving me mad thinking it could be my parents or sister next time and—Oh, I was going to lunge over that table and throttle—

No, I had to stay calm. We couldn't fight. That was the old Lily and James. The new Lily and James were calm and respectful.

"What?" asked James as I stared at him. I could tell he knew what I was thinking, and the slight edge in his voice sounded like he wanted me to say what I really wanted.

"That's all you're going to say?" I asked in a hopefully polite tone, even though my gritted teeth might have swayed that a bit.

"What do you want me to say?"

What I had really wanted to say was, "Er, how about you act like you actually care that those people are dead? Or maybe you could say that you understand how freaked out I am but that it'll be okay and you'll tell me how I'm going to survive outside of Hogwarts, you prick."

But then he would have said something like, "Merlin, Lily, you know I care, why does it matter what I say specifically? You're making a big deal out of this."

And then I would have said, "Why do you have to be so dismissive?"

And he would have said, "Quit being so patronizing, I'm not a child. You're worse than a mum."

And I would have said, "Well, you could have fooled me."

And he would have said, "Sorry my childish ways bothered you, _Professor McGonagall_."

And then it would have been like we were fifteen years old again and rowing over something completely silly, and we would have been utterly powerless to stop it. Except we were dating now, and I didn't know how a row between us would end, and I didn't know if we would be able to go back to before the row or if we would sit in silence and think about how maybe that was a sign that things weren't so different after all. The idea of sitting across from James and having him think that things weren't so different after all and maybe this wasn't a good idea made my palms start to sweat. That feeling edged out the frustration I felt, so I didn't say what I had wanted to say.

"I don't know, I just wanted you to say _something_. It's a real tragedy, James."

He paused and I could tell he wanted to say something more. After years of bickering with James, I know the face he makes when he's getting ready to have a go, and there—there it was—and—Wait—no—it was gone.

His hazel eyes drifted back down to his book—stupid Quidditch—and he ran his fingers through his hair. (Why? What was he anxious about? What did he want to say?)

"If the _Prophet_ is going to start driving you mad, maybe you shouldn't read it anymore."

I stared at him. It wasn't intentionally rude, and he had a fair point, but everything about that sentence and the way he looked at me when he said it and the way he looked away afterwards rubbed me the wrong way. My frustration bubbled.

I wanted to say, "Well, if _you're_ going to keep driving me mad, maybe I shouldn't hang out with you anymore." But I didn't. I kept that to myself, too.

* * *

 **Did the longest chapter so far at least kinda make up for the wait?**

 **My goal is to post TWO chapters in January. I know. Wild. Also, I've had the breakup scene written since like the very beginning, I'm just trying to find the right spot to put it which miiiiiight be next chapter but don't hold me to it.**

 **ALSO! Wow so much has gone on in HP universe, I've been dying to hear other Jily fans opinions. What do you all think about the background on the Potter family?**

 **Please review and tell me your thoughts! Reviews give me the same feeling you get when you see an update email.**

 **MG**


End file.
